


The Wolf and the Amaranth

by KaedeRavensdale



Series: When it Rains in Orgrimmar [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alpha Garrosh, Anduin finally decides to get his shit together in this one, Cataclysm timeline of a sort, M/M, Omega Anduin, Power Couple, Time to join the Horde, a/b/o dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2019-11-12 18:48:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 50,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18016385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaedeRavensdale/pseuds/KaedeRavensdale
Summary: Varian had hoped to dissuade the Prince's inconvenient 'friendship' with Garrosh Hellscream but only ended up driving him into the arms of the Horde. With the mantle of King in Waiting left behind in Stormwind, and with Azeroth itself breaking apart around him, Anduin finds himself finding his position within his new Faction and learning what it truly means to be an Omega while leading at his mate's side.The Hour of Twilight comes, but the dawn which follows will not take the darkness with it.





	1. Reconnections

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, i'll go over this again later to try and catch any mistakes i missed.  
> TWATA will be considerably longer than WIRIO and will follow a loose version of the cataclysm timeline as i was able to make it out, with set up for heading into the events of MoP.

               It had been three days since they’d returned, victorious, from Icecrown, their battered forces trickling back in gradual waves, and celebration had been raging throughout Orgrimmar ever since. More out of obligation than any desire to participate Garrosh had showed himself for the first night of the madness. Drinking and feasting with the rest. Boasting of his martial accomplishments while in the frozen north when prompted to but otherwise glaring into the depths of his drink or in the general direction of anyone who dared to call out his mood.

               His thoughts, as a whole, were on his mate. Images of him lying there atop those furs, nearly lifeless and unresponsive, refusing to leave his mind. The unhealthy pallor of his skin against the saronite collar locked around his throat haunting him. How thing his limbs looked backlit by the blue glacial wall like a hazy image from a nightmare. He knew, at least, that Anduin was now ‘safe’ in his father’s custody-and felt incredibly vindicated by the Prince’s Omega’s vicious reaction to the King’s efforts to take him away-but his Alpha wasn’t fully set at ease. Another Alpha had attempted to forcibly usurp his position. Had held Anduin against his will and abused him, if perhaps not to the full extent possible. Surely, the Prince needed him. Strong as the little Human was both mentally and physically for something his size being forced to deal with such a trauma alone was far from ideal for his mental state.

               The celebrations had gone on late into the night until, finally, Garrosh was able to extract himself from the situation without stepping on any unnecessary toes and while having enough time spent there that he had an iron tight out if someone happened to come back and attempt to drag him back in. After a few hours sleep the Overlord of the Warsong Offensive collected the necessary tools and headed to the forge.

               Unlike the smaller, bare bones forges they’d had access to back on Northrend’s frigid wastes which had only really been good for necessary repairs to arms and armor, the forge in the Valley of Strength was eight times the size and well stocked for everything from shodding the feed of a Kodo to forging a delicate buckle on clothing.

               Claiming an anvil in the far corner, despite it being empty, Garrosh arranged the items he needed and set to work. Working the nugget of Dark Iron in front of him for most of the day, occasionally shooing away any new arrivals who hadn’t come to use the forge but rather to pester him about rejoining the insanity outside, before he was satisfied enough with its size and shape to begin working on the rough details.

               Another brief handful of hours rest saw him back in the forge, now with smaller tools, finishing up the rough details and starting in on the finer ones. Barking at the gaggle of drunken Blood Elves who somehow managed to find their way inside at about midday, and ending up with a finished product in the form of a wolf’s head etched with swirling channels that could be filled with a glaze color-matched to the dragon scales he’d taken off the Drake which had attacked them in Crystalsong.

               Over the crackling of the forge fires and the fluttering of leather as he packed away his tools a series of shrill screeches echoed from the streets outside. Culminating in the appearance of the culprit. A falcon or hawk of some sort with feathers a blinding shade of white, speckled with faint flecks of charcoal grey. Amber eyes focused in on him and a moment later, before Garrosh could determine how to properly react, the menace landed on the anvil where he’d been working with a quiet thump and stuck out its leg.

A letter had been tied to its ankle with sturdy twine. When Garrosh simply stared, confused-who sent letters using _birds?_ -for a moment too long the thing had the gall to click its beak impatiently and wave its leg in his direction.

               Growling at it, though the thing just hissed and ruffled its feathers in response, the Overlord untied the letter and looked it over.

               No address, nor any hints as to who was responsible for sending it. Not helpful. Garrosh turned the envelope over and caught sight of the blue wax used to seal it, embossed with the seal of House Wrynn. The same insufferable symbol which adorned the flags of the Alliance.

               Varian wouldn’t, under any circumstance, be taking the time to do something as inanely civil as sit down and write him a letter. Which meant it had to be from Anduin.

               Naturally the Omega’s bird had to have an attitude on it not too unlike its owner.

               How something with a beak could ever manage to look that smug…

               Turning his attention away from the avian messenger which seemed entirely happy to stare him down as if they were across an arena and posture like a warrior, raised wings and all, Garrosh broke the seal and unfolded the parchment inside.

               Though it had likely been difficult for him to manage doing so with his father surely close at hand, Anduin had remembered his off-hand comment about his inability to read the strange sigils which comprised the Common Alphabet as he found the letter to have been penned in a precise set of Orcish Runes.

               **I’m writing to make certain you know that I’m alright, though I had to be sedated for a period in order to get my Omega back in line. This is the means through which we can continue to communicate under father’s nose which Jaina promised.**

**I do have good news as well: largely in regards to the scare of all that’s happened father has relaxed his stance on my punishment. Though he would still have me stay in Stormwind for a few months I will be permitted to eventually rejoin the Crusade. Perhaps once I have, we can arrange a meeting in Hearthglen?**

**I look forward to hearing from you again. And even more so to seeing you, whenever the chance to do so should next arrive. Perhaps at Theramore Isle, provided you’re attending?**

**P.S. His name is Fionn.**

               White. He actually named the _white_ Falcon…! Garrosh shook his head and shoved the letter in with his tools before exiting the forge.

               With the flutter of feather’s Fionn’s weight alighted on his shoulder a moment later. The Overlord turned his head to glare at it. “Did I give you permission to land on me?”

The damned bird leveled him in an imperious stare.

Refusing to be reduced to standing outside the forge engaged in a staring contest with a _bird_ Garrosh looked away and kept walking. Though a few stumbling drunks yet remained the overall celebration had petered out. Peons were back to their constant work, running about underfoot for fear of the Overseer’s lash. Stall keepers were back to business in the narrow canyon outside the Drag. The Overlord glared down into the dark passage as he went by, well aware of just what manner of activity was going on down there.

Warlocks being allowed to practice, all but openly! Even the thought of it was enough to fill him with bitter disgust and he never understood why Thrall tolerated practitioners of the very magics which had torn apart their world to set foot in the city.

Even if Thrall had never known Draenor himself.

Reaching his quarters at last, he shrugged aside the fur which hung from the door and stepped inside. Fionn immediately making himself at home on the nearest piece of furniture which vaguely resembled a perch.

Ignoring it Garrosh moved to the pallet and spread the teeth in front of him on the furs. He’d finished boring the necessary holes to hang them from a strip of leather already and now all that was left to do before he could assemble the necklace was to carve them and apply the color treatment form the scales.

For a long time, the only sounds were the scratch of metal on bone and the occasional flutter of feathers as the bird shifted. Then, there came a call of “Garrosh, are you in there” which announced the arrival of Thrall.

Setting aside the tooth and filed in his hand the Overlord trotted back to the overhanging fur and pushed it aside. Allowing the Warchief to step inside.

And of course, the first thing he commented on was the damned bird.

“Jaina contacted you?”

“Under what circumstance do you think I want anything to do with your witch?” Garrosh paused to examine his work before continuing.

“I can’t think of anyone else you might know who keeps Kul Tiran Gyrfalcons.”

“He belongs to Kil’azi. A recent gift, apparently.” The Overlord grunted. “I’ll give her one thing, Thrall, she’s clever. I doubt Wrynn’s intelligent enough to realize what the bird is being used for. Though she could have chosen one with a better attitude.”

Fionn screeched.

Thrall snickered. “I know they can understand Common but I didn’t think they could understand Orcish as well.” The younger Orc grumbled an unintelligible response. “Join me for dinner in the Hold. There’s something the three of us need to discuss.”

“You’re already referring to the damn falcon as if he were a regular fixture?”

“Of course not, though I’m certain he’ll soon be if he’s going to pose as the go between for you and Prince Anduin.” Thrall said. “I’m referring to Rehgar.”

“I’d rather have the bird.” Garrosh said.

Fionn chose that moment to land directly on top of his head.

“Well, it looks like you’ll be getting both.” It was difficult to contain the urge to wipe the smile off the older Orc’s face. “He’ll behave. I expect you will as well.”

That, summarily, was the end of the argument and Garrosh knew as much. Muttering under his breath and setting what he was doing aside the Overlord rose to his feet. Glaring at the bird as it hopped down onto his shoulder.

“I am _not_ a bird perch!”

The Gyrfalcon turned its head and body almost 180 degrees and stared at him upside down. He squawked.

Garrosh, giving up, followed Thrall outside. He got a few odd looks largely owing to the fact that the beast decided that would be the perfect time to attempt to a poor imitation of a song bird, but a swift glare in return was more than enough to redirect them.

Garrosh had a sneaking suspicion the thing was perfectly behaved around Anduin.

In spite of their flapping screeching accompaniment the Kor’kron Guards to either side of the entrance to the Hold didn’t so much as bat an eye.

Rehgar however practically had to hold his eyebrows onto his face in order to prevent them from popping off.

“Don’t. Mention. The bird.” Garrosh growled, stalking over to the nearest chair and throwing himself down into it. Fionn hopped onto the back of it and clicked his beak but didn’t stay there for long.

No sooner had Garrosh collected a plate than did the demon bird thud onto the table and waddle over. Garrosh moved his plate. The bird went for it again. He lifted the plate over his head only to have Fionn lift off the table and attempt to land on it.

“ _Hey!_ ” Pushing the raptor aside he hastily threw a bit more meat onto another plate and set it aside. “There! Leave me be!”

“He certainly seems to have a tendency to attract…wild things.” Thrall grinned when the Warrior threw a glare at him.

“Wrynn’s writing letters now?” Rehgar said. “Where it’s good for Varian’s sanity, and our chances not to wake up tomorrow to Stormwind at our gates, to know that the Prince will recover from what happened you ought to cut off communication.”

“You ought to keep to your own business, Earthfury!”

“It’s more beneficial than harmful to nurture this, Rehgar.” Thrall said. “Anduin will be King, one day. With brotherhood rather than ill feeling between him and us we stand a chance at ending this war once and for all when the time comes for him to take Varian’s place on the Lion Seat. But that isn’t what I asked both of you here to talk about.”

“Let me guess,” Garrosh drawled, “something’s going on in Theramore.”

“A peace summit. About two months from now. With Tyrande’s decision to cut off lumber trade in Ashenvale couple with the drought currently ravaging Durotar, Stormwind wood would go a long way towards tiding us over. Varian’s agreed to consider attending.” Thrall said. “I’d like both of you to attend.”

“Putting Garrosh and Varian in the same room isn’t going to result in anything short of warfare.” Rehgar said. “If you expect to get anything done under those conditions then you’ve too much faith in both of them.”

“Quite the contrary, Rehgar.” Thrall said. “Between Jaina and Prince Anduin I’m sure that things will be kept reasonable. Besides, what better way is there to develop a greater tolerance for Humans than exposure in non-combat situations.”

The other Shaman didn’t look convinced. “If you won’t reconsider, Thrall, at the very least secure a source of lumber to fall back on.” He said. “Silverpine Forest, perhaps? The Forsaken care little for trees, it seems, so surely it won’t be terribly difficult to convince Sylvanas to part with some.”

“There’s no need to attempt to deal with that frigid harpy, old man!” Garrosh snapped. “In spite of what you seem to believe I’m able to behave when I wish to. I won’t allow the Horde to suffer over a rivalry with a Human!”

For a chance to see his mate again he’d tolerate Varian for as long as he had to.


	2. Setting Out

Jaina Proudmoore, Lady of Theramore, Archmage of the Kirin Tor, family friend and his honorary aunt, truly was a life saver. Her solution had worked, and though his Omega was still far from pleased with the situation the regular contact between them-averaging about two letters a week, the white falcon easily able to evade efforts by the SI:7 to screen his mail for safety-had been enough to keep it from making another effort at escaping their circumstances through death. A fact for which the young Prince was very grateful, as not only would it surely have revealed his mated status to his father there was no way in the Light or Void that Garrosh would have been able to get to him in time.

In the first letters sent between them the Overlord of the Warsong Offensive had confirmed his intention to be present for the coming peace summit in Theramore and voiced a request to meet, to which Anduin had readily agreed, though an exact place had yet to be decided. A repeated topic after that had been the Orcish Alpha’s complaints regarding the supposed bad behavior on the part of the bird whom Garrosh referred to as ‘the winged menace’.

Fionn had never been anything less than a model pet around him, at least baring his very clear dislike of his father and tendency to hiss and screech whenever the man would enter the room. Though he didn’t doubt it was fully possible Fionn was making trouble for his Alpha the little Omega also thought that the Orc was likely exaggerating his accounts. At least a little bit.

The bird in question was currently asleep atop a regal perch positioned in the far corner of the Prince’s chambers, beside the open window. Head tucked beneath the pale plumage of one of his wings. Sunlight, bright and clear, and the sounds of Stormwind-a familiar echolalia of talking and laughter, trundling cart wheels, tolling church bells and the distant sighing of the sea-spilled into the lavishly appointed room from outside.

Bracing his hands against the windowsill, feeling the stone-cold and hard-beneath his fingertips and palms, Anduin leaned his weight against it. Looking out across the colorful rooftops towards the bustling docks and, beyond them, the glittering blue of the see. Stormwind city. The Heart of the Alliance. His father’s Kingdom.

And though he stood before the throne as heir, and had yet to bear breaking away, he knew it would never be his. Born to the Alliance he might have been, but he’d meet his end in the Horde.

Or meet it early.

“Prince Anduin.” The Paladin nearly pitched forward out of the window I surprise at the sound of Wyall’s voice from not far behind him. Whirling around, blue eyes wide, Anduin regarded his manservant with alarm. “I apologize, your Highness. I thought you heard me coming.”

“I’m sorry, Wyall. I got lost in my thoughts.” He said, calming his heartrate and taking a step away from the window. “You were saying?”

“I’ve drawn your bath, my Prince. When you’ve finished, your father would have you join him for breakfast.” The aged man informed him, setting a familiar vial of dark liquid on the Prince’s end table. “I’ve also been asked to remind you of the need to renew your dose.”

Bitter and vile. A destructive poison wreaking havoc of unknown proportion on his body. Consequences lying in wait for him days, months and years in the future. How many more time would he have to take it before he could bring himself to put himself above his people? What damage by then would have already been done? Anduin bowed his head to hide his grimace, his Omega spitting and hissing with hackles raised.

“Thank you, Wyall.” He said. “I’ll take it once I’ve cleaned myself up, before I head down to join father for breakfast.”

“Blue today?”

The Omega shook his head. “Grey, I think. Or red.”

“Of course.” Wyall stepped towards the wooden dresser in the far corner. “I’ll have everything set out for you by the time you’re finished.”

Anduin nodded and headed into the connected wash room. Closing the door behind himself and sparing the wash basin barely a glance he began to disrobe. First pulling the band out of his hair, allowing long golden tresses to spill about his shoulders before pulling his night shirt up over his head. Trailing the light touch of fingertips over unblemished skin where his Alpha’s mark should have been. Not for the first time feeling a hollow ache in his chest.

What would it have been like had he woken up in Orgrimmar? On a fur pallet rather than a lavish bed? Accompanied, instead of alone. The heat of those golden eyes. The rough touch of calloused hands, so large and yet so gentle.

The Prince shook himself and allowed such thoughts to drop to the floor along with his discarded clothing. Stepping into the wash basin and sinking down into it up to his neck.  Closing his eyes. Dragging his thoughts back when they attempted to stray to the night he’d spent curled beside his Alpha. Forcing his focus to center solely on the warmth of the water. The feeling of it lapping against his skin.

Wetting his hair, Anduin picked up the pot of shampoo and quickly lathered it into his mane. Washing it out a moment later before retrieving the soap and attacking the rest of his task. Forcing himself to finish at a reasonable speed, despite how badly he wanted to stall and delay having to take another dose of the suppressants, Anduin retrieved his towel and exited the washroom.

True to his word, Wyall had left the promised ensemble arranged on the foot of his bed and, as per the Prince’s long prior request, had left him his privacy for renewing his ‘medication’. Quickly redressing, he fumbled a bit with some of the buttons; he hadn’t had a manservant to dress him every morning while he’d served in the Crusade and after endless drills in Hearthglen could throw on plate armor without a moment’s pause but sometimes the small buttons on royal cloth still managed to trip him up.

Small wonder that his father practically lived in his armor.

After a solid five minutes of struggling to properly align the buttons and finally succeeding Anduin turned his attention to the dreaded vial and stepped over to the end table it sat on. Picked it up. Took a deep breath to steel himself and, before his Omega could react, threw the contents back.

The liquid burned its way down his throat, lighting a fire in his belly. The violent reaction by his Omega forced the Prince to fall to his knees and curl into a ball to prevent himself from lashing out. Jaw clenching as his teeth ground together. Every muscle in his body locking up as his nails broke against the flagstone floor. A high-pitched yowl of furious defeat wrenching free of him before everything went momentarily black.

Anduin woke up lying on the floor. His head was muddled and everything hurt. He felt as if he’d swallowed dragon fire.

Hauling himself back onto his feet, forcing himself to retain proper postured despite the desperate want to double over, the Prince made his way down to the Keep’s dining hall. Discovering his father precisely where he’d expected to, waiting for him at the head of the table.

It didn’t escape Anduin’s notice that his usual seat already had an assembled plate sitting in front of it: fresh fruit and warm bread spread with golden honey.

“I know taking it is always hard on you, Anduin.” He father said by way of greeting, noticing the direction of his gaze. “You slept well?”

“Yes.” The Prince couldn’t quite restrain the sigh of relief when he lowered himself into his chair. “Thank you, father.”

The King’s heather gaze was tinted with concern as Anduin picked at his meal. “Worse than usual.”

The little Omega shrugged his shoulders nibbling on a berry. “A little, I think.” He said. “I’ll be tender for a while. I feel like I’ve been trampled by a horse.”

“That’s not normal.” A Modicum of anger had begun to enter Varian’s voice. “I was told the dose hadn’t been meddled with but it seems that isn’t true. I’ll speak with-!”

“That isn’t necessary, father.” Anduin said. “We both knew it would cause damage eventually. I’ve taken poison for almost a decade now.”

A moment of silence in which the King continued to stare at him with sadness in his eyes. Then he sighed. “Do you need to see a Healer, Anduin?”

The Prince shook his head. “I’ll be alright.” He said, pulling one of the pieces of bread apart. Viscous honey coating his fingertips. “Even if I’m not, I’d rather not know. I’m aware of the potential consequences of extended suppressant use. I’d prefer to live what little of my life may be left without that specter looming over me.”

Varian stiffened. “What do you mean ‘what little of your life may be left’?” he demanded. “By the Light, Anduin! You’re only 18!”

“My age isn’t a factor, Father.” He said. “We both know I’m losing months, even years every time I take the suppressants.”

“You’re the Prince of Stormwind. Heir to the High Throne of the Alliance. Have access to the best Healers on Azeroth!” Varian all but snarled it. “You _will_ outlive me!”

“Sometimes Healers aren’t enough.”

“What are you saying?”

“My Omega won’t stand for being bound much longer.” He said. “What if it comes to the point where an Alpha is a necessity?”

“Then I’ll find one that will value you as they should! No matter where I have to look!”

Except for the Horde. “What will people think when they learn the truth?” he asked. “An Omega can’t ascend the throne.”

“Laws can be changed. But I won’t lose my son to this!”

“And what of our family’s reputation? The House of Nobles-.”

“Perish the damned nobles! Our family’s reputation as well! Family reputation doesn’t mean a damn thing when there’s no family left!”

Anduin dropped the little piece of bread he’d been pretending to eat back onto his plate. Dragging himself up out of his misery to stare at his father, eyes wide. It had been a long time since he’d thought of Varian Wrynn as being more than father, King and-at times inconveniently ill tempered-warrior and even when he had the reality of that had never truly registered before now. An Orphan of war, forced to witness his own father’s violent death in front of him at the hands of a woman he’d thought of a family. An Alpha who had lost his mate. A man with little left beyond his only son.”

Guilt flooded him; the fires of his pain fueled with bitter smoke.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Picking up the piece of bread he’d dropped Anduin shoved it into his mouth. Forcing himself to chew and swallow. “May I visit the Cathedral of the Holy Light once I’ve finished, father?”

“You may. But be at the docks in three hours.” He said. “We set sail for Theramore Isle today, and will arrive a few hours before the talks begin a fortnight from now.”

“Thank you, father. I’ll return to my chambers and pack before I set out.”

“No need. Wyall is more than capable of handling that on his own, I’m sure. It’s his job, after all.”

Nodding and rising from his seat with a shallow bow, Anduin exited the dining room and then the castle itself and heading through the city towards the cathedral.

Passing through the inner doorway and into the main body of the church the Prince scanned the dimly lit hypostyle hall. His first impression was that he was alone among the burning candles, the dry air lightly scented with tallow wax and incense. But once he’d started forward and gotten halfway down the aisle towards the altar, he caught sight of the other occupant and skipped to a stop.

“I’m sorry, Archbishop, I didn’t see you when I entered.” He said, bowing his head.

“No apology needed, my Prince.” Benedictus said, a kind smile on his lined face. For some reason which Anduin couldn’t pin down it didn’t seem quite…right. “It’s been a long time since I’ve last soon you. You went off too Hearthglen to join the Crusade near the instant you returned from your studies on the Exodar.”

“I couldn’t simply stand by while what went on continued.” Anduin said. “I had to go.”

“And you returned a Paladin. A proud accomplishment, your Majesty.” The older man said. “Though the Light tells me that you haven’t come here for a social call. You’re troubled.”

“I cannot speak of it.”

“Your father would not be a part of this confidence if that’s your concern. King or no.”

Anduin continued to stare at his former mentor for a drawn-out moment after. The danger of admitting something so taboo waring with the desperate ache, the need, to divulge his torn heart to someone. Finally, after a brief mental war and a last check around the empty cathedral to ensure they really were alone, hung his head.

“I’ve imprinted on an Alpha, as they have in turn. Problem is,” Anduin shifted in discomfort, “he’s an Orc.”

“You’ve taken an Orc as Alpha, my Prince?” there was surprise in his voice but not disgust. When Anduin dared to glance up at him he didn’t find judgement there, only something oddly triumphant though why that would be he couldn’t guess. The feeling that something was off intensified. “Might I ask their name? There are quite a few of them in the Horde, after all.”

The Prince paused for a moment before answering. Did he dare to voice the truth in the middle of Stormwind? Light only knew what ears the walls had. “Garrosh Hellscream.”

The triumph from before sharpened before being promptly buried beneath an expression meant to be somber. “I see, now, why you were so troubled Prince Wrynn. Why it is that you were so reluctant to voice such a matter in public.” He said. “You’ve come seeking guidance?”

Anduin nodded. “I have.” He said. “I need the Light to steady my heart. I can’t do this much longer. But can’t do to my father what I know leaving would. I don’t know what I should do, Archbishop. Which choice I should make: continue giving of myself until it kills me or, for once, be selfish.”

“Prince Anduin,” the Archbishop told him with a sigh, “I can only advise you, not make the choice for you. But I would say that if you’re looking for a sign to ease your way its more than likely you’ve already received it.”

Anduin cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

“Is it not a miracle what’s happened here? You, who’ve always sought nothing more than peace on Azeroth, imprinting on an Orc of such position within the Horde? Garrosh Hellscream, an Orc renown for his hate of our people, imprinting on you in kind. Perhaps the Light is calling you down a different path than societies claims you were born to take.” Benedictus said. “I council you to meditate on the matter at hand; to look within yourself and make the choice you’ll regret the least. Do not be discouraged if the answer doesn’t come immediately.”

Anduin nodded, letting out a heavy sigh. “Thank you, Archbishop.” He said. “If you’ll excuse me, I should be getting down to the Harbor.”

“Of course, my Prince.” Benedictus said. “The Light tells me that great changes are coming. Changes that will see the world as we know it reshaped. Now, I’m sure that you and your…unconventional mate are to be a part of it. Safe travels.”

Anduin couldn’t quite conceal the haste with which he left the building. Skin crawling with something cold, though the gentle warmth of the sun’s rays was quick to chase it away.

He found his father waiting for him beside the royal flagship, accompanied by numerous members of the royal guard.

“All of your things are already on board.” Varian said as Anduin came into earshot. “You’re ready to go?”

“I am.” He said. “We’ll be arriving in three days?”

“About that long, yes.” The King shepherded him up the boarding ramp before him and onto the deck. His heavy plate boots thudding against the salt scoured wood. “Remember our deal.”

Affording the King a small smile, trying desperately to keep the pain he was still feeling off his face, Anduin made his way swiftly down to the Prince’s cabin and stretched out on the bed.

Light willing, he’d be able to sleep until it went away.

 

Zosha grumble at him as he finished tying the necessary supplies for the three-day journey down to Duskwallow Marsh but Garrosh ignore her, securing the straps before grasping the War Worg’s reigns and leading her out of the stables to join the other two. The carefully crafted courting gift was safely stowed away in the pack at his side, though the Overlord often found himself checking to ensure that it was still there.

Thrall, astride Snowsong, tried and failed to hide a smile. Rehgar, atop his black beast, Ma’ka, leveled him in a stern glare.

The sooner they reached Theramore the better. Because at least then, even considering the fact that he’d have to tolerate drawn out meetings over a pointless ceasefire and forced to deal with Varian, he’d be back with his mate. At least then, his Alpha’s agitation would be temporarily relieved.

The Warchief was going over the route they’d be talking, the time it would take and precisely where they’d be staying once they arrived and Rehgar was periodically shooting him distrustful glared but Garrosh ignored them both. Thralls voice and Earthfury’s eyes simply drowned beneath the babble of Orgrimmar’s busy streets and the beating rays of the sun.

As they passed by open air stalls and the shaded doorways of the busy shops which lined the canyon snaking alongside the entrance to the Drag, dust rising in puffs around them as they charted a path towards the Valley of Strength and the front gates beyond, Garrosh’s thoughts strayed to Anduin. Unlike while he’d been up in the North, the Overlord made no effort to redirect them.

He knew, from the numerous letters they’d since exchanged via the ill tempered avian the Archmage had gifted the little Omega as a pet, that his mate had recovered entirely-or almost entirely-from what he’d gone through while in the clutches of the Lich King but mere letters weren’t enough. The knot of stress, of concern, which had coiled tight at the base of his spine wouldn’t come undone until he had the Paladin’s delicate form in his arms. Until he could search his fragile Human body for damage with his hands. Seek hints of mental damage by speaking with him himself. See him flush with health again, instead of corpse cold and drained of almost all his color.

And they would meet, somehow, alone. At night. Somewhere away from the walls of the Archmage’s city where they wouldn’t be disturbed. He’d present what should have been his first courting gift. Ensure things were handled properly, if a bit out of order.

It would still be a long time coming before Anduin would consent to take his mark, that much he didn’t doubt. The damned stubborn Prince was still staunch in his refusal to abandon the Alliance for the life that he deserved. But all would come in time.

He didn’t get much practice with patience, was known for being rash and hot headed. But for Anduin, for the reward of ultimately seeking his perfect little mate safe in Orgrimmar, he’d drawn out what little patience he did possess for as long as he had to.

“Garrosh!” The Overlord started at the sound of Thrall’s voice, louder than usual but not stern. Golden eyes met blue ones. “Now that I have your attention, I’ll repeat myself.” The Warchief said. “We’ll be staying in Brackenwall Village, an Ogre village about 15 minutes flight from Theramore. Should everything proceed as planned, we’ll arrive on the eve of the commencement of the talks, which will begin at past noon the next day.”

The Overlord grunted a noncommittal reply.

“I expect both of you to attend the meets and both of you to attend the meets and both of you to pay attention. Little as you like Humans-baring one exception who will be there, though I must ask you not to distract each other-I want you to learn how to interact with them civilly.”

Another grunt.

“Though I know you disagree with matters I truly believe that this route is of best benefit to the Horde.” He said. “I’d like your promise.”

Garrosh leveled him in a baleful golden gaze. “I’ll behave as long as Wrynn does.”

The expression on the Warchief’s face practically read ‘why did I expect anything different?’ Their conversation ended and they exited the city soon after.

With the cooling waters and deep shade of the oasis Orgrimmar had been built around behind them the desert heat soared to mind-bending levels. The blue sky was a faint powder hue, devoid of even the faintest wisp of clouds. The blinding light reflected off the parched earth in shades of scarlet, the dust and sand which clung to the ground like a fog forming a bone white haze which stretched to the horizon.

Even Orcs, far hardier than Humans with their thin pink skins and pale complexions, could only withstand such conditions for so long. After four hours travel, just as it came to be the hottest hours of the day, the sun hanging high upon its Zenith, they were forced to take shelter in the shade offered by a towering outcropping of rock.

As Thrall busied himself with the matter of calling upon the elements to provide their Worgs with water Garrosh treated their surroundings to a searching gaze. Not much to see if this part of the desert, especially in the midst of a drought; most of what little foliage would otherwise have been there had withered to brown woody husks. Mostly sand. A few small, scattered stones. A cactus in the near distance, surrounded by a small swarm of black specks.

No, not specks. Those were bees.

…Wait. Bees?

Rehgar looked over at him as he pushed himself onto his feet and started towards the insect ridden succulent but said nothing. The low drone of thousands of buzzing wings soon becoming audible. The stinging pests were coming and going through a yellowed hole in the spined trunk and through it, after coming his neck a bit, Garrosh could see a mass of waxy comb glistening with dark honey.

_The viscous dark red fluid coated the little Omega’s thin fingers and smeared his soft lips. Pink tongue darting out between them to lick it away amid quiet, appreciative sounds._

That image was worth the pain of the hundreds of stingers which drove into his skin the moment he shoved his hand into the hole. The black barbs bristled from his knuckles earning him an utterly unimpressed gaze from the other Orc.

Garrosh ignored Rehgar completely as he wrapped the honey in a length of oil cloth and tucked it away in his pack.


	3. Theramore

Anduin Wrynn really _really_ hated having to take his suppressants.

The pain of the ‘medicine’ had begun to taper off the more time he’d spent lying on his back amid the soft pillows and warm comforter of the bed in the Prince’s chamber of the Royal Flagship until it had become weak enough that, combined with the gentle rocking of the waves, he’d been able to fall asleep.

The pain had persisted when he’d awoke the next morning, and then the next, and then the morning after that before, thankfully, dissipating into an unfortunate memory and a familiar tenderness around his middle which he knew would be gone in another few hours and was easily ignored.

Honestly, the young Prince of Stormwind wasn’t sure which side of his predicament he hated more: the few wracking heats he was permitted or the pain and soreness from taking his suppressants which lasted just as long.

“Anduin.” His father took care to keep his tone gentle but in doing so couldn’t keep the worry in his voice properly concealed. Anduin startled, brought out of his thoughts, and pulled his eyes from the cup of tea that he’d been staring into. “How are you feeling?”

To his credit, despite how worried he’d known the King to be, his father had allowed him to remain in bed until he himself had seen fit to leave it, having Wyall bring him light meals of porridge or broth and tea whenever he’d felt up to eating. And even now that he’d finally emerged from his bedchamber, he was holding back the interrogation as to his health he desperately wanted to embark on.

“Tired.” Anduin picked up his tea, more for the sake of having something to do with his hands than out of any desire to drink it. “And a little sore, still, but that will go away soon. It always has before. We’ll be arriving into Theramore soon?”

Varian nodded. “Soon.” He confirmed, which wasn’t really any help at all. “We should make landfall a little over an hour before the first meeting is set to begin.”

Soon, he’d be able to see his mate again face to face. He knew that Garrosh had saved him-his father, however reluctantly, had admitted as much-but the last thing Anduin properly remembered was…

The chill of Icecrown’s wind swept summit stole across his skin, raising goosebumps in its wake and drawing out a tooth rattling shudder. Anduin took a deep drink and winced when the tea scalded his tongue.

“Will you be up to it?”

Anduin blinked and quickly set the cup down. The fine bone china clattering against it’s matching saucer. A slight sinking feeling settled into his chest at the realization he’d lost the train of the conversation; if he didn’t navigate this properly his father would doubtlessly become even more concerned. “It?” he asked, gilded brows drawing together.

“The meeting. I’m sure those beasts in the Horde won’t be out to make this easy and if you aren’t able to handle such stress, I don’t want to put you through it.” Varian said.

“You needn’t worry about me, father.” Anduin said. “A couple hours of verbal fighting won’t be too much for me. Not this long after, well, everything happened.”

“This had better not be about getting to see Hellscream.”

“It’s about helping Aunt Jaina keep things civil and observing my duties as Crown Prince.” Anduin said. “If I’m to take your place on the Lion Seat one day,” and it was more of an ‘if’ than Varian needed to know at that point in time, “then I need to know how such meetings should be handled in the event they happen in the future.”

The King scoffed, prodding at the remnants of his own breakfast with his fork.

“You said that I could speak with him.”

“Briefly!” He snapped. “And not alone!”

“Yes, father.”

His acquiescence seemed to be enough to satisfy Varian, at least for the time being. Reaching across the table, the King spooned more fresh fruit onto the Prince’s barely touched plate. “Eat more. You’ll lose weight if you keep this up.”

Anduin sighed and picked up his spoon. “Yes, father.”

Another few minutes passed in silence. Varian, drinking his tea, watched him with hawkish eyes while Anduin forced his tender stomach to accept something relatively substantial for the first time since the day he’d taken the suppressants. Anduin struggled to cover another wince.

“More tea?”

Anduin shook his head. “No, thank you.” He said. “I think I’m going to spend a bit of time up on deck; I’m sure Fionn would like a chance to stretch his wings and might want to try and hunt a bit too.” Did Gyrfalcons even eat fish? Fionn, so far, had been self-sufficient when it came to food so Anduin wasn’t sure. Jaina hadn’t given him a list when she’d gifted him the bird.

“Be careful near the railings. The Great Sea is rough and cold this time of year and I don’t want you falling in.”

The urge to simultaneously smile and roll his eyes warred within him. Anduin suppressed the second but allowed the first to slip through. “I’m not a child anymore.”

“Adults can go overboard too.” Varian said gruffly, as always made uncomfortable, awkward, by the effort to express his softer emotions. “I’ve already almost lost you once, and recently. I never want a repeat of that.”

Yet again, guilt shot through him like a spear. “I’ll be careful.” Turning quickly away Anduin hurried back to the Prince’s chamber.

Fionn took wing as soon as he was over the threshold, alighting on his shoulder a moment later with a soft chirr and beginning to tug at his hair. Laughing, Anduin reached up to stroke the falcon’s feathers. “I know you probably feel cooped up and restless, stuck in here these past few days.” He said. “Let’s get you up onto deck to stretch your wings.”

With the bird balanced on his shoulder, Anduin made his way back through the narrow hallways of the flagship and up onto the deck. The blue and golden sail rippled overhead, the fluttering of the heavy fabric and creaking of the swinging ropes mingling with the soft sighing of the waves below. The deep blue water stretched the half mile which lay between them and the ragged shore of Dustwallow Marsh, pale sand soon giving way to steep hills of sallow willows and dried grass. Ahead, the Mage Tower at its center rising amidst the sharp rocks in an ivory spire, was Theramore.

Fionn shrieked and lifted off him, his white wings stark against the blue of the cloudless sky as he circled on the sea winds overhead. Leaning on the sturdy railing, breathing in the salted air and enjoying the caress of the wind on his face. Anduin watched him swoop and soar for a while before, suddenly and without warning, folding his wings and diving out of the air. Pulling up just in time to merely skim the surface and climb back over the railing with a Stonescale Eel in his talons which he dropped onto the deck with a splat.

The fish barely had the chance to slop about on the treated wood before the falcon was on it. Curved beak tearing strips from its slimy body.

“To the mighty hunter go the spoils.” Anduin shuddered slightly and turned his attention back to their steadily approaching destination. Not looking away until Fionn landed in front of him, clutching the half-eaten eel by its lengthy spine, and peeped out a question. “Uh…no thanks. I’ve already had breakfast. That’s all yours.”

A chuckle from behind him as his father emerged from below deck, once again clad in his imposing ceremonial plate though this time Shalamayne was absent. “Seems I’m not the only one who’s worried about you.”

Fionn hissed, feathers ruffling, and dropped the eel over the railing. Letting out another shriek and taking off again in a storm of feathers, the falcon took a swipe at his father before soaring off towards the Mage Tower.

“Damn thing.” Varian grumbled. “I still don’t understand what I did to piss it off.”

“Fionn seems to be very selective.” And spirited, if Garrosh’s complaints were to be believed. “I’m lucky he likes me, to be honest.”

“Of course he likes you. Everyone likes you.” Varian’s features clouded with sadness for a moment. “You’re just like your mother in that regard.”

Almost without his knowledge one hand reached up to clutch the locket which hung at his chest. “I miss her. I wish I’d gotten the chance to know her.”

Varian’s hand landed heavily on his shoulder, powerful fingers gently applying a reassuring pressure. “She loved you. I love you.”

Anduin covered his father’s hand with his own. Painfully aware of how small it was compared to Varian’s. Compared to Garrosh’s. “I know.”

They stood like that until the crew emerged in force to prepare the flagship to dock at which point his father stepped away, though he didn’t go far.

As the royal flagship sailed into the shallow waters surrounding Theramore Isle, Varian began to make his way across the deck. Straightening his clothing and pushing a strand of golden hair out of his eyes, Anduin followed.

Smaller than Stormwind by a handful of degrees, Theramore was inhabited almost entirely by Humans most of whom were of Kul Tiran descent. Despite being widely considered neutral, lead as it was by an Arch Mage of the Kirin Tor and a close friend of both the High King and the Warchief, unlike Dalaran members of the other faction didn’t commonly visit.

Briefly, as the flagship reached the end of the long dock and dropped anchor, Anduin found himself wondering if a Blood Elf or Forsaken or Tauren would be welcomed if they tried.

The boarding ramp dropped with a loud clatter and his father turned his head to ensure he wasn’t far behind before stepping up onto it and descending to the sun-bleached planks which made up the dock. The smell of salt and fish and wet stone was strong enough to almost burn his nose, the sunlight blinding as it reflected off the pale blue waters.

“King Varian. Prince Anduin.” Jaina waited for them halfway down the dock, dressed in her usual pale violet robes and holding her familiar staff in one hand. A welcoming smile on her face. “Welcome to Theramore. Your travels went well?”

“Well enough for this time of year.” Varian said, rather darkly before he added “certainly better than the last time.”

“Thank the Light.” Jaina said. Anduin couldn’t help but agree. The last time that his father had set sail for Theramore he’d been taken captive by the Defias Brotherhood, on order of Onyxia. “Anduin.”

“Aunt Jaina.” He accepted the hug that she stepped in to give him with a smile and felt something small and polished being pressed into his palm. She pulled back and winked and the quickly slipped it into his pocket before his father could notice. He didn’t look. He didn’t need to to know it was a hearthstone. “How are you? Has your recovery gone well?”

“I’m perfectly fine now.” Physically at least, so far as he ever was. Mentally…perhaps not quite yet. He tried to avoid thinking of what happened before the Frozen Throne so as not to have to relive it. “Have they arrived yet?”

“Not yet. Though I’m certain they’ve at least reached Brackenwall Village; the Horde settlement where they’ll be staying.” Jaina told him. “It shouldn’t be long now.”

“Naturally, Thrall and his brutish ilk can’t even be bothered to keep proper time.” Varian growled. “The meeting is to be in the Mage Tower, I take it?”

“Yes.” Jaina said. “The meeting will begin as soon as they arrive. If you’d like, we can make our way over there now.”

The High King grunted. “I think that may be best.” He said. “Anduin?”

“I think I’ll stay outside a bit longer. Enjoy the weather.” Anduin told him. “I’ve spent too much time below deck.”

Varian seemed to consider arguing the matter for a brief moment before saying “don’t get any ideas about talking to Hellscream alone.”

“I won’t, father.” He promised. “I’ll join you at the Mage Tower before the meeting begins.”

The High King nodded. “Alright. Don’t take too long.”

“I won’t, father.” Anduin promised, watching the King and the Arch Mage begin to walk away. Selecting a direction and well aware that he was being followed, all be it at a discrete distance, by members of the royal guard, Anduin began to walk through the island city’s busy streets. Finding his way to a staircase leading up to the top of the fortified wall surrounding Theramore, Anduin looked out over the dreary swamp.

A trio of Worgs, with Orcs astride them, were making their way across the bridge. Even at that distance, Anduin could recognize Hellscream immediately.

A familiar shriek as Fionn darted by just over the Orc’s head, drawing the Orc’s attention to Anduin when he inevitably circled about and landed on his shoulder again. The Prince raised his arm to wave, a smile on his face, and received a nod in return.

“Coming with me to the meeting?” he asked the falcon, turning back to the stairs. Fionn simply clicked his curved beak and flexed his talons. The Prince chose to take the lack of effort to fly away as answer and, with a last gentle stroke of soft feathers, started towards the Mage Tower.

 

Though not as hot as Durotar, Dustwallow Marsh, day and night, was so impossibly humid that it felt as if he were breathing in water and, no matter what he attempted to do he was constantly soaked in sweat. The leathers worn beneath his plate were drenched, the skin beneath quickly becoming irritated, he felt almost certain he’d developed at least a handful of saddle sores and the only word which Garrosh could possibly think of to describe it all was ‘miserable’.

The sooner that he could get the chance to see his mate, even from across the room while under his father’s ferocious eye, the better. At least then all of this irritation, and the utter idiocy sure to be the only outcome of the farce this ‘summit’ was sure to be, would seem in some way worth it.

They’d arrived in the ogre village called Brackenwall late the night prior after a bit of trouble with the neighboring Grimtotem Tauren, but the reprieve from travel had been far from restful as, even at night, the marsh was hellaciously hot, leaving meaningful rest impossible. Leaving after an irritable breakfast at just after sun rise, they’d been riding since early morning and, by now, Ma’ka Snowsong and Zosha were all three huffing and panting. Long pink tongues lolling from their open mouths.

The humidity which had sat heavy in the air lessened somewhat as they drew closer to the coast, run off a margin by the gusting sea winds, but the relief it brought was paltry and soured by the stench of fish and Human. Ahead of them, across an arching bridge, the city of Theramore crouched atop the rocks like a spiny crab.

Briefly, Garrosh wondered if it would attempt to pinch him if he stepped on it or simply roll over and die.

A recognizable shriek heralded the close pass of the white falcon’s familiar form. The winged menace banking up and away before it landed on Anduin’s shoulder, atop the city’s sturdy walls. The little Omega’s smile was easily made out even from that distance as he raised his arm and waved. Though he was dressed once more in the colors of Stormwind rather than the grey and red he should have been, it was still an indescribable relief to see him standing strong and healthy; a far cry from the state he’d been in when Varian had carried him away.

Annoyed and drenched in sweat though he was, Garrosh nodded. Grin growing larger, the Crown Prince turned and flitted away.

It took an incredible amount of will not to give in to his Alpha’s urging to prod his mount forward faster so that he could follow.

“We’ve arrived just in time.” Thrall said as they left the bridge behind, setting out into the streets themselves. The blue and golden sails of a great ship fluttered above the tops of the surrounding buildings. “Though it seems the Alliance party beat us here.”

“Not surprising. They traveled over sea, as the crow flies.” Rehgar said, turning narrowed eyes on Garrosh. “I reiterate my thoughts on your decision not to leave him in Brackenwall Village to be the wrong one. Wrynn won’t be in the mood to deal with us as it is.”

“Shut up, Earthfury!”

“Garrosh!” Thrall quickly admonished, earning a snarl from the younger Alpha which he ignored. “I’ve already explained my reasonings for wanting to see what’s between our Overlord and the Crown Prince strengthened, as good relations will only benefit ending all of these hostilities in the future. And that wouldn’t happen if we left Garrosh in Brackenwall.”

“And what, exactly, is between them?”

Garrosh threw a sharp warning glare at the older Orc, thankfully it wasn’t necessary as Thrall waved the other Shaman off and changed the subject. “The stables should be just over here. Jaina had the horses that normally reside there moved for the time slot of the meetings to ensure no accidents occur while our worgs are making use of them. We’ll put them away and walk to the Mage Tower.”

Rehgar clearly wasn’t satisfied with the answer but appeared to resign himself, at least for the time being, to the fact that he wouldn’t be getting anymore out of the Warchief. Garrosh bared his tusks in amusement and dismounted, stiffly leading Zosha in through the stable’s low hanging door.

The stalls were too small and too narrow, not meant for something nearly as large or bulky as Worgs bred for war. Garrosh felt bad shutting her up in there-by the elements, she could barely turn around-but assured himself that it was only for a few hours.

Sparing the time to briefly scratch behind her ears, the Overlord was the last out of the stables and consequently brought up the rear of their party as they passed the guards stationed outside the Mage Tower. Betas, by the look of them, wearing the green and gold tabard of Theramore; they eyed them in a cautious manner which left Garrosh with the laughable impression that they thought they’d be capable of putting a stop to even one of them if they’d decided to cause trouble.

Garrosh felt confident in his ability to pick up either one of them and snap their spines like kindling.

Getting through the door, built for the shorter smaller frames of most Humans-envisioning Varian having to force himself through in much the same way that they had was more than mildly amusing-was a bit of a struggle. Maneuvering their broad-shouldered bulk up the narrow, close curve of the spiral staircase was much more difficult, one only endured with much hissing and cursing on Garrosh’s part.

When, at last, they made it to the top and through the door they found there-Garrosh wasn’t looking forward to going back down-they were met with the sight of a well-furnished meeting room. A large table stood in the middle, a bowl of ripe fruit and pitchers of wine and water sitting in its center. Tapestries depicting gold appointed maps of the marsh hung from the walls.

Standing beside the window, looking out at the streets below with the falcon on the ledge beside him, was Anduin. He turned when Jaina spoke up to greet them, as if he hadn’t been watching for their entrance, and smiled. Pale lips pulling back over those small square teeth of his that somehow managed not to make him look unnatural, lighting up his entire face.

Glancing over at his father, who stood glaring not far away, he stepped forward and crossed the room to greet them.

“Overlord Hellscream.” He stuck out one small, delicate hand. “Good to see you again.”

“Anduin.” It was difficult to keep the obvious affection from his voice, but somehow, he managed. Reaching out to delicately clasp the much smaller hand in his own.

Before he could, Varian barked out a harsh “no contact!” which made the Prince jump a foot in the air. Garrosh flung a resentful glare in the other Alpha’s direction as his Omega hastily dropped his hand back to his side, growling under his breath. Varian glared back in defiance, eyes flashing.

The Prince cleared his throat and offered a stiff half-waist bow instead. “Thank you. For saving me.” He said. “I don’t remember anything after…but father told me. That it was you. That’s the second time you’ve saved my life.”

And he’d do it again. As many times as he had to in order to keep his mate safe. Any _real_ Alpha would do the same. “Make sure there’s not a third, Princeling. I’m sure that being in a position where I’m owed a life debt by a Wrynn, no matter how marginally tolerable he may be, isn’t comfortable for either of us.”

A slight smirk tugged at one corner of his lips as he straightened up. “No, I’d imagine it isn’t for you. I, personally, don’t mind. I never was much bothered by that sort of thing after all.”

Garrosh huffed.

“That’s quite enough, Anduin.” Varian called. “Come away from him!” Dipping his head, a regretful expression flashing across his face, Anduin turned and made his way back to his father’s side. Dropping one large hand onto the Prince’s shoulder, as if in fear he’d suddenly go running back towards the Horde party, Varian turned his attention back to the Arch Mage. “Let us get on with things, Jaina. This farce is set to take long enough as it is!”

“If we can all take a seat,” Jaina said, motioning towards the table, “we can begin.”

And begin it did, only to be about as productive as could have been expected. Varian, hostile from the outset, only seemed to become more so as time went on. Thrall attempted to argue their cause to willingly deaf ears with Rehgar’s aid and Jaina’s attempts at mediation. Garrosh only bothered interjecting a small handful of times, his attention almost fully on the Prince who’d remained almost entirely silent throughout the entire proceeding.

Where he’d gotten his hands on an Alliance military badge Garrosh wasn’t certain but he was holding it in both hands and fiddling with it in a rather odd manner. Occasionally looking straight at him and making an odd jerking motion with his chin.

It took him nearly forty minutes of watching this before what he was doing clicked; Anduin was using the badge to reflect the sunlight coming in through the window onto the map of the marsh behind him. The beam was then being maneuvered onto a specific point on the coast about halfway between Brackenwall Village and Theramore. Meeting his-now slightly desperate-gaze once again Garrosh nodded.

Letting out a small sigh of relief the Prince slipped the badge back into the folds of his clothing and arranged himself more comfortably in his chair.

Five more hours of bitter bickering passed before Jaina seemed to give the effort up for lost, at least for that day, and called an end to their collective misery. Varian didn’t waste any time in scooting the Omega before him out of the room and down the tower stairs, Garrosh watched them go with a narrow golden glare.

Irritated as he was by the entire debacle and in no way soothed by the struggle ahead of them at the hands of the damnable stairs, the Overlord of the Warsong Offensive took solace in the fact that one thing, at least, had been accomplished.

Anduin had selected the location of their first meeting.


	4. Silver and Starlight

Expectedly, his father hadn’t been left in the greatest mood by the day’s rounds of summit talks-Anduin doubted that that fact would change over the course of the weeks’ worth of meetings; in fact, the Crown Prince expected that the High King’s mood would only sour further the later the week became-and retired not long after a brief dinner. Anduin, for his part, had returned to the Prince’s quarters in the bowels of the royal flagship and waited. Waited until night fell. Waited until the crew had settled around the ship. Waited until the sounds of the city outside quieted to the point that the only thing he could hear beyond the wooden hull was the sighing of the waves.

Anduin pulled the stone that he’d been given earlier that day and examined it. Turning it over in his hands. What the Prince had originally taken as a hearth stone was instead a highly polished, grey and violet rock of about the same size. It seemed to be a variant of the same object, though where it would take him Anduin wasn’t sure. But he trusted Jaina enough that he didn’t think much of using it anyway.

Getting carefully to his feet, he took care not to allow the floorboards beneath him to creak as he crossed the room to where his rain scaled cloak hung on the wall and turned the stone thrice in one hand.

Seized by the familiar yanking sensation behind his naval, Anduin blinked and found himself a moment later in the stables not far outside the Mage Tower. Though the great War Worgs ridden by Garrosh’s party were held here during the time the peace summit’s talks were taking place, the stalls were currently occupied by the horses which were their usual owners. Snorting at him in greeting, the nearest horse-a shaggy chestnut Balikun-tossed its mane.

Surrounded by the familiar smell of sea, sweet hay, and horses Anduin swiftly collected a saddle and bridle and freed the horse in question from its stall. Patting it gently on the neck before leading it out of the stable and pulling himself up onto its back.

Settling comfortably into the saddle and pulling his hood up over his golden hair, Anduin urged his mount forward at a steady clop and headed towards the city’s gates.

The heavy metal gate was still open despite the hour but the guards stood astride it didn’t simply let him pass ignored. Though the Prince was well aware they could have made things much more difficult for him had they been of a mind to-questioning him on where he planned to be going at such a time for example; the fact that they hadn’t made him think Jaina had had a hand in this as well-but they still stared at him oddly as he passed. Reaching up a hand to pull his cowl further over his face, Anduin steeled himself against the flood of nerves which threatened to overwhelm him at the prospect of setting out into Dustwallow Marsh alone and prodded the Balikun forwards into the humid dark.

A vast and ancient swamp, potable water was hard to come by but there was no shortage of ways to get lost and the predators which stalked the close grown brush averaged the size of the horse that he rose. Raptors. Spiders. Windserpents.

Black Dragons.

The young Paladin shuddered, feeling in no way comforted by the slight weight of the knife at his belt. It was a far cry from even a full-length training sword, and not for the first time Anduin bemoaned the loss of Fearbreaker. Whatever the Black Knight had done to it after he’d taken it before their disastrous match in the ring, the mace had yet to be found. The familiar weight of the hefty weapon would have been fortifying now, despite the fact he knew it wouldn’t have stopped his real fear from carrying him away should it appear out of the darkness.

Would Garrosh already be there when he arrived? Anduin certainly hoped so. Or, at least, hoped that he’d arrive soon after so that he wouldn’t have to spend an extended period out there alone.

The closer that he drew to the location he’d selected for their meeting the wilder the brush became. This became all the more apparent when he finally left the main road behind, ducking down against the neck of his mount to prevent himself from being unseated by any low hanging branches as his mount picked its way carefully onwards toward their destination. Emerging moments later out onto the loose, pallid sand.

Blue eyes scanned the narrow stretch of beach, panning over the gentle ebb and flow of the waves to one side and then the other before finally landing on the dark, towering figure which had just emerged from the brush. Dismounting onto the sand.

“Garrosh.”

 

Impulsive. Immature. Hot headed. The cause of more trouble, often, than he solved. In many ways the spitting image of his father, Gromm, at least in personality. Rehgar Earthfury could think of a great many words and phrases which could be leveraged as descriptors of the Warchief’s prodigy, the decorated Overlord of the Warsong Offensive and celebrated veteran of the Northrend Campaign. Patient enough to sit through an entire meeting with the man he hated most in the entire world without saying much of anything inflammatory wasn’t among them. And the fact that he had had left him suspicious.

No, there was definitely something going on here. Something more than what Thrall seemed happy to pass off as ‘friendship’ between Hellscream the Younger and the Crown Prince of the Alliance. Thrall, clearly, was going to be of no help in getting to the bottom of it all-and he knew the other Shaman surely had to be aware of more than he was willing to admit-so it appeared he’d have to take investigating matters into his own hands.

He’d seen the way the Human heir had been ‘fiddling’ with the Alliance medallion for almost an hour during their meeting. The way he’d promptly ceased to after managing to catch the Overlord’s attention. His suspicion was that he’d used the medallion and the tapestry map on the wall behind his seat at the table to signal a location for a meeting of some sort and that suspicion seemed to be proven correct when-hours after dinner had been served and the Ogre village had quieted for the night-Garrosh poked his head out of his tent before emerging with Gorehowl in one hand and a small package in the other.

After making a last effort to scan the area around him and assure himself he was indeed alone the hulking Mag’har began making his way to where their Worgs were tied and struck out into the darkness.

Shifting into the form of a spirit wolf Rehgar quickly followed, taking care to remain at far enough a distance that the soft glow of his form wouldn’t alert the other Orc to his presence. The towering warrior and groggy Worg made their way down the main road that cut through the Marsh, leading all the way through from the Barrens to Theramore, before suddenly diverting seemingly at random into the brush.

Ducking beneath a tangle of briars, the shaman quickly followed. Easily weaving his way through the undergrowth in the other Orc’s pursuit. Finally, Garrosh pulled his mount to a stop and climbed down from the saddle. Tying her to a nearby tree and continuing onward alone, the leaf litter and fallen twigs crunching underfoot, before finally giving way to sand. The claustrophobic growth giving way to an open stretch of beach.

The moon was full and low in the sky, drenching the sea the sand and horse mounted form in its cold silver glow. Catching sight of the Orc, the clearly Human figure dismounted as well and lowered its hood. Unveiling a telltale mane of golden hair.

“Garrosh.” Anduin said, smiling.

“Kil’azi.” The Overlord replied.

There was a brief moment of almost awkward silence where neither man moved. Then, with a suddenness that startled both Orcs, the Crown Prince threw himself at Garrosh. The Mag’har catching him against his chest, bare but for the leathers normally worn beneath plate on account of the persistent merciless heat, with a grunt of surprise.

The Prince purred, butted his head against the other’s chin and then made a noise that made everything click into place in the Beta’s head.

Ancestor’s mercy, the Crown Prince of the Alliance was an Omega! Yet he was being passed off as an Alpha, likely at his father’s insistence. But why? Rehgar knew, of course, that not all races shared the view of Omega that Orcs had-Trolls, for example, thought that Omega were even more vicious fighters than Alphas where the Blood Elves seemed insistent theirs never had to touch the ground-but the old Shaman knew nothing about the Human customs surrounding the dynamics.

What would drive Varian to go so far as to conceal his son as an Alpha, not only forcing him to live an unnatural life but risking him so completely by allowing him to do battle on the front lines against the Scourge. And how did Garrosh know what he truly was in spite of such a well put together cover?

There was only one reasonable explanation.

By the elements, he’d thought the situation was shaping up to be complicated when the apparent answer had simply been ‘Garrosh attempting to get under the High King’s skin by messing with what he cared the most about’. The possibility that they could have imprinted on one another wasn’t even the foggiest possibility in the back of his mind-and, really, why would it have been when he hadn’t realized the Prince was an Omega-yet it made far too much sense.

Thrall knew. He must have known. Perhaps he expected all of this to end well for them; for Varian to simply accept the fact that the son he was rabidly protective of was mated to the Orc he hated more than anything else in the world and end the war?

In reality, he had little doubt that the revelation of the pair before him would only exacerbate the tensions between their races. But there was nothing to be done for it; the doing of the spirits was out of their hands.

Whatever happened would just have to be ridden out. Better to make what preparations could be made in the meanwhile.

Huffing softly, Rehgar turned round about in the brush and began to make his way back towards the main road. Leaving the pair on the beach to themselves.

“You’re shaking.” Garrosh said it as if it were ridiculous, likely mistaking its source for being cold and not being able to comprehend how anyone could be cold in such a hot and muggy climate. Especially when wearing as many layers as Anduin was.

“Nerves.” Anduin reluctantly supplied. But when Garrosh opened his mouth again he shook his head. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

Reluctantly, Garrosh relented on the matter and allowed the little Omega to step back. “You’re well?”

“You’ve asked me that in your letters.” Anduin brushed nonexistent wrinkles from his front in an effort to busy his hands. “A few times now, actually.”

“And now I’m asking you in person.”

Anduin sighed. “I’m fine.”

Garrosh didn’t seem convinced. “What happened, Kil’azi? After those bastards took you.”

Cold. Biting cold. The grip of unrelenting fingers as he was forced to his knees before the Frozen Throne. The Lich King, Arthas, grasping his chin with metal gloves that burned like fire. Forcing him to meet his glowing eyes through his terror. Examining him like cattle. “I don’t want to-!”

“You need to.” There was no arguing with the tone the Overlord used. His golden eyes a defiant blaze. Summer compared to the Death Knight’s remorseless winter. “Tell me.”

“Talking about it won’t undo it.” A note of panic had entered his voice. He could feel it acutely now. The arctic talons of the wind digging into every inch of bare flesh as his armor and the leathers beneath were stripped by boney fingers. He tried to pull away but hands held him firmly in place, large and warm and gentle.

“Your demons will never leave you if you attempt to handle them alone.” There was an almost uncharacteristic empathy in his tone. “I learned that the hard way.”

Furiously, Anduin shook his head. Panic bubbling up in his tightening chest left it difficult to breathe and tears blurred his vision.

“Don’t you trust your mate enough to help you?”

Guilt flooded him, then. A different sort than the one he’d been feeling around his father whenever he thought about the truth of his relationship with the Orc in front of him. It wasn’t quite as oppressive and edged with a note of familiar defiance. Garrosh was right. Holding something so dark so close to his chest would only serve to damage him further in the long run. And if he couldn’t tell his mate, his Alpha, than who could he tell?

Still, forcing the words to come was difficult and he nearly bit his lip bloody in the process. “They killed my guards and destroyed my tent when they came. Dragged me through a Death Gate to Icecrown Citadel. To the Frozen Throne.”

He shuddered violently. Under his breath, Garrosh growled.

“The Lich King was there. He…’examined me’.”

“Did that bastard touch you?” the Orc snarled.

Anduin shook his head quickly, expression pinching. “N-No! Thank the Light!” He said. “But he… _said_ things. Promised t-to do things to me that I don’t want anyone to do to me except, well, you.” His cheeks, even paler than usual in the moonlight, flushed bright red. “That he was going to breed me. That our children would be the strongest Death Knights to ever grace Azeroth and that they’d conquer the world for the Scourge.”

“He’s dead.” Garrosh spat, glaring into the darkness at nothing in particular. “He’ll never hurt you again.”

The little Omega cracked an uneasy smile. “Father told me that you saved me.” He said. “Though the Light knows it was like pulling teeth to get him to admit it.”

“I did.” He said. “I wasn’t going to leave you there. Neither was he.”

“But that means…you weren’t there.”

Garrosh raised an eyebrow. “There?”

“At the Frozen Throne. At the battle.”

His Alpha snorted. “There’s always another battle to be had.” He said. “You’re more important.”

Anduin beamed.

“But we’ve wasted enough time on that bastard as it is.” Garrosh threw himself rather gracelessly down onto the sand; clammy and cold it clung to his exposed skin but was still preferable to the sticky night air. “I have something for you.”

“You do?” Anduin perked up, pulling his cloak from his shoulders and spreading it out on the sand before sitting down beside him. The act was so completely Human that it was difficult for him to contain the urge to roll his eyes. “What is it?”

Garrosh opened the bag that he’d brought with him and produced something wrapped in oil cloth. “I found this on our way in from Orgrimmar. I remembered that you mentioned liking it.” He said. “The damned bees weren’t happy but a few stings were nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Stings?” Disregarding the oil cloth entirely Anduin seized the Overlord’s nearest hands and critically examined them before turning stern blue eyes on him. “You had them treated?”

“Thrall found it hilarious.” He grumbled. “Now open that so I can give you your actual gift!”

“Actual gift? You mean that there’s more than one thing?” thin fingers quickly unfolded the oil cloth and revealed the ragged chunk of comb inside. Honey so dark it was almost black oozed from soft formed wax. Breaking off a small chunk, Anduin placed it in his mouth and let out a delighted chirrup. “It’s so much sweeter than anything in Elwynn!” Quickly rewrapping it to prevent sand from becoming stuck in the honey he asked “what kind of flowers were the bees using?”

Garrosh treated him to a blank look. “Cactus?”

The little Omega laughed. “You said you had something else for me?”

Now it was the Alpha’s turn to look nervous as he reached once more into the bag and removed another package. “Traditionally, a proper courtship begins when an Omega accepts a courting gift from their Alpha, which had been made from a defeated opponent by their own hands. Our relationship, admittedly, has progressed out of order but I still want this done right.”

Garrosh held out the second package for Anduin to take. The little Omega eagerly unwrapped it, revealing the necklace inside.

“Light, Garrosh, it’s beautiful!” Twenty massive teeth, carved with swirling designs stained a deep cerulean, had been strung on a sturdy leather cord. At its center was a wolf’s head cast from Dark Iron. “You made this?”

Appearing simultaneously proud and embarrassed, Garrosh nodded. “From that Drake that tried to attack you in the Crystalsong Forest.” He said. “You can wear it when you come to live with me in Orgrimmar.”

Anduin opened his mouth to respond, guilt and sorrow and frustration as his own inability to make a decision coiled in the pit of his stomach, his Omega hissing at him, then closed it again. Wrapping the oilcloth back around the beautifully crafted necklace and setting it beside the honey. “Swim with me?” he rose abruptly and began to disrobe. Shucking off first his overcoat and then the button up shirt beneath stepping out of his boots and pulling off his gloves and pants.

He forced himself not to give in to the desire for modesty which shot through him and instead stood proud and fully naked before his Alpha. Fluttering his lashes in what he hoped was an inviting manner before crossing the sand to where the waves lapped against the shore. The water was cold and made his toes curl but the salt of the sea brought sweet relief from the ever-present heat.

The silver flecks of moonlight waivered on the heaving surface as the Prince advanced. First to his shins. Then to his knees. Then to his waist. He heard the gentle splashing of the Orc entering the water after him as the sea came at last up to his collar bone and his feet left the sandy bottom.

“Watch it, Wrynn! There are Threshers in this water!”

Anduin threw his head back and laughed at the gruff warning. Turning and treading water while waiting for his mate to catch up. ‘Graceful’ was not the word which came to mind at the sight that met him-really, the Mag’har looked more like a water logged bear than anything inspiring thoughts of poise and delicacy-but he was warm when he reached him and, bobbing together under the stars, the young Prince of Stormwind couldn’t have cared less.

But like all things, their precious few hours out there on the beach had to come to an end. Reluctantly emerging from the water, confident in the sea’s ability to camouflage the Orc’s scent on his skin, Anduin did his best to dry himself off with his cloak and redressed. Bidding his Alpha a quiet farewell, the little Prince swung himself back up onto the saddle and rode away into the dark. The honey and necklace tucked carefully away within the folds of his clothing.

Aside from a slight scare when a raptor shrieked from somewhere in the brush not far to his right Anduin made it back to Theramore without fanfare. Thanking the horse with a pat on the snout after freeing him from the bridle and saddle and returning him to his stall, the Prince headed back to the royal flagship.

He hadn’t expected his father to still be awake.

Varian, apparently caught mid conversation with Jaina, raised an eyebrow at his still clearly damp state. “So what your Aunt was telling me was correct.” He said. “You did duck your guards to go skinny dipping.”

What in the Light had Jaina told his father to convince him of that? Anduin couldn’t even really call it a lie because he and Garrosh had, ultimately, taken a dip in the water sans anything but the sticky night air. The Prince felt his cheeks begin to burn as his father clapped him on the back with one massive hand, nearly knocking him off his feet.

“I remember the first time I did that. Calia almost had kittens when she found us.” For a moment a gossamer veil of sadness passed across his features before the High King shook off his memories and said “I don’t condone you leaving your protection behind and running off into the Marsh at night, but I’m glad to see you up to your usual mischief. For a while I feared you might not even be willing to get off the ship, considering how close we are to that _beast’s_ former lair.” Anduin shuddered. “Enjoy yourself?”

The blonde smiled. “With how muggy it is here at all hours the Great Sea was refreshing to say the least.” He said. “But I think I’ve had more than enough activity for one day.”

“Get some sleep.” The towering warrior said. “There will be more ‘peace talks’ tomorrow and I’m sure we’ll all need all the energy we can gather.”

“Goodnight, father.” He said. “Aunt Jaina.”

“Anduin.” The Arch Mage nodded at him as he passed, descending the nearby steps and disappearing from sight. She turned back to her old friend once certain the Prince was out of earshot and asked “are you ever going to tell him what really happened to Bolvar?”

“Tell him that the man he looked at as a God Father, whom inspired him to become a Paladin, who was there for him when I couldn’t be, is the Lich King now?” Varian shook his head. “No. It would destroy him. It’s better he’s left with the happy story that he’s with the Light rather than the reality of matters. That he’s trapped in a Damnation partly of his own design in as much that he put that crown on his head.”

Jaina shook her head and sighed. “If you really believe that that is for the best.” She couldn’t help but wonder just how much father and son weren’t telling one another.


	5. Dragon's Lair

               Crown Prince Anduin Wrynn might have earned the title ‘the Patient’ among some of the circles he frequented but even he had limits and after the penultimate meeting of the summit in which the Mage Tower had nearly caught fire from all the hot heads crammed into it at once the young Paladin wasn’t certain how long he had before his own fuse burned through. To his immense relief and likely out of desperation Jaina had made the executive decision to push the final meeting of the summit back a day. Effectively leaving the coming day free in a last-ditch attempt to diffuse at least some of the pent-up tension through distance.

Knowing both his father and his mate as well as he did, the little Omega doubted the Arch Mage’s efforts would be met with much in the way of success. But at least this way if any sort of conflict-verbal or otherwise-kicked up and led to bloodshed Jaina could honestly say she’d done everything in her reasonable power to prevent it.

That day’s round of talks had ended just a handful of minutes prior. It had proved to be unproductive, as usual, and when it had ended his father, as usual, had herded him out and down the Mage Towers stairs ahead of him before immediately stalking back towards the royal flagship for some peace and quiet in order to get a handle on his anger.

Though the headache the Omega had developed in the meetings wake and the thought of a nice cup of tea back in his room was almost enough to tempt him to follow, the draw of ocean air and warm sunlight drew him to the rocks outside the city walls instead. The waters of the Great Sea were a rather unflattering shade of brownish green near the shore but transitioned into a more attractive blue over deeper water. Off in the distance, the long brown neck of a threshadons broke the heaving surface as the massive animal took a breath before diving down again. Spiny shelled crabs the size of a small dog scuttled busily about the craggy shore, none of which bothered to pay the Prince of his guards any mind. This suited the Paladin perfectly fine as he settled himself on one of the smoother stones. Propping his weight against his arms, feeling the hard roughness beneath his fingertips and tilting his face to the sun. Purring softly at the caress of warm rays and gentle salted wind.

Slowly, and not for the first time, his thoughts strayed to his mate. Their night meeting and the gifts he’d been given, still safely locked away amongst his things. Outside of the summit arguments-because, really, that was what they were-he hadn’t seen his mate again since their first night in the Marsh, but hadn’t gone more than few hours without thinking of him. The slab of comb honey he’d brought him had almost entirely disappeared by now, savored in tea or on toast or simply as it was when he found himself in desperate need of something sweet. And often, in the depths of the night and early morning, when the shit around him was quiet and he couldn’t find sleep, the little Paladin would pull the necklace from its wrapping and hold it in his hands. Feel its steady weight. Run his fingers along the carved fangs and the contours of the wolf’s head. Put it on and let it rest against his collar bone whilst it was too dark to make out even his own reflection in the mirror across the room.

He wouldn’t allow himself to see what it looked like to wear until he’d never have to take it off again.

The clang of plate and startled curses from where the rocks began pulled the blonde from his musings. Opening his eyes, Anduin turned his head in the direction of where he’d left his guards and swiftly located the source of the commotion.

Standing there with defiance in his golden eyes Gorehowl at his back and Zosha at his side was Garrosh.

“At peace, both of you! Need I remind you that Theramore, at least for the course of the summit proceedings, is sanctuary?” Swiftly getting to his feet, Anduin leapt down onto the sand below. “Stand down!”

“Prince Wrynn,” the nearest guard only reluctantly removed his narrowed gaze from the Orc in front of them, “your father ordered-.”

“That I only speak with him whilst chaperoned and that I not go seeking out his company myself.” Anduin cut him off, barely holding back a snap of impatience from invading his voice. “I fail to see how this occasion violates that mandate.”

The guards exchanged wide eyed looks, plainly trying to find some hole in his logic and failing to do so. “Stay behind us, your majesty.”

The Omega only just resisted the temptation to roll his eyes and turned his gaze onto his mate. “Overlord Hellscream,” he said pleasantly, “I’d have thought you’d have gone back to Brackenwall by now. Neither Thrall nor Rehgar seemed keen to linger.”

“Can you blame them, Princeling? This entire ‘summit’ is nothing but a waste of time!” Garrosh growled. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Quite.” He chirped, grinning. “The sun is nice after so long indoors, and up North, and the sea breeze keeps the heat tolerable. “Is it comfortable where you’re staying?”

“As comfortable as a wet blanket.” He grunted. “You seem to be having a marvelous time at these damnable meetings.”

“Oh yes, absolutely. There’s nothing I find more fun than attempting to mediate a pair of Alphas who go together about as well as volatile catalyst and dragon fire.” The dry sarcasm was potent enough to kill a Kodo. The Orc’s growling laughter made both men turn white.

“You seemed to do fine as a Argent Peacekeeper.”

“I had over a hundred other Peacekeepers of various races to assist me and the authority to eject agitators if need be at the Tournament. The only backup I have here is-.”

“One of the most powerful witches alive.”

Even well aware as he was of his mate’s-understandable, all things considered-dislike of Magic Anduin wasn’t about to allow anyone a free pass to speak ill of his Aunt. “Jaina is _not_ a witch!”

The Overlord grunted and crossed his massive arms. “Seems I’ve touched a nerve.”

“Seems so.” He drawled. The headache was beginning to return in force.

“Plans for your day off, Princeling?”

The real question buried there wasn’t lost on the Omega. Thankfully, his guards couldn’t say the same. “I intend to go for a ride through the marsh this evening, though I’m afraid I can’t share my intended destination. For obvious reasons.” Blue eyes met gold and Anduin was relieved to find understanding there. “As for tomorrow…whatever I end up doing, it will have absolutely nothing to do with the summit. What of you?”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Well, I hope you find sufficient inspiration.” Anduin said, a faint smile on his lips. “And that you find safe travel back to Brackenwall. I should be going.”

Pushing away the desire not to eave and turning his back on his Alpha, ignoring his Omega’s whine of frustration, the Paladin charted a path through the city back towards the royal flagship with his guards not far behind. He could feel the relief rolling off them like a physical presence.

His father was standing on the decks, looking out across the waves back towards the Eastern Kingdoms and Stormwind with what almost looked like longing Anduin couldn’t help but smile.

“Only two more days, father. And you won’t even have to see the Horde for one of them.”

“Anduin.” His father turned to him. “Where have you been?”

“On the rocks just outside the city walls, enjoying a bit of sun.” He said. “But I meant to ask you something since I needn’t worry about an early morning tomorrow. And since we’re here in Duskwallow, where it happened…”

Varian looked at him sideways. “What are you asking?”

“The Dragonmurk was cleared out years ago; you saw to that yourself. And…I need to face my demons, father.” He said. “I’m requesting permission to ride to Onyxia’s lair this evening. Alone. To let go of the remaining trauma.”

“Even with the Black Flight supposedly cleared out of the area-and simply because we’ve chased them out once doesn’t mean the beasts haven’t since returned-Dustwallow Marsh isn’t a safe place to go strolling through. Certainly not after dark.” Varian said. “There are spiders. Raptors. Ogres. Undead, in some areas!”

“I’m a Paladin, father, and a veteran of the Northrend Campaign. I know how to defend myself; I’ll be armed and I’ll be careful.” Anduin said. “Please. I need to do this. And I don’t know if I’ll ever have another chance.”

The King’s almost wolfish heather eyes regarded him critically for a long moment. Seeming to search his face for something. Whatever it was he appeared to find it, because he relented with a sigh. “Very well. But I’ll only allow this on the condition that Jaina agrees to watch you.”

“That’s not unreasonable.” Thank the Light that his Aunt was both a more tolerant and understanding person in regards to good relations with members of the Horde and was already well aware of, and in some regards complicit to, his relationship with Garrosh. “I’ll ask her if she’s able?”

“Go.” Varian reached out to squeeze his shoulder gently before allowing his son to slip from his grasp. With a last smile over his shoulder at his father, Anduin descended the boarding ramp again and bounded through the city’s streets. Easily able to locate the Arch Mage in question.

Jaina wasn’t alone; her apprentice, Kinndy Sparkshine, a pink haired and eternally bright in demeanor Gnome whom was considered to still be a teenager by her race despite being four years his senior at 22, was also there and looked up at his entrance.

“Oh, Prince Anduin!” She chirped with a smile. “My apologies, your Highness, for not getting the chance to speak to you before now.”

Anduin smiled as well and waved her words away. He liked the little Beta well enough. Had met her once or twice though wasn’t familiar enough to consider her a friend. More of an acquaintance, really. “Hello, Kinndy. How have you been?”

“Perfectly well! Perfectly well!” She chirped. “How was Northrend? I heard-.”

“Kinndy!” Jaina quickly cut her apprentice off. Anduin tried and failed to hide his grimace at the mention of the far north, thoughts turning to Garrosh and his words on their night together on that beach to keep the threatening shudder at bay. It didn’t wrack his body with quite as much force this time.

“Oh! Sorry! I didn’t mean to-.”

“It’s alright.” The reassurance sounded weak even to his own ears and he winced even more. “Though my time there ended badly, to say the least, it could have been so much worse. And it wasn’t all bad. Northrend, bitterly cold as it was, is truly a beautiful place. And I…” casting a telling glance at the older Mage after a moment’s hesitation, Anduin finished “met someone. Though I doubt father would approve.”

The Gnome let out a squeal, pressing her hands to her face in an effort to hide her smile. “Oh, that’s great! Congratulations!” She said. “Who is it?”

“Kinndy!” This time Jaina sounded more exasperated than reprimanding. Anduin’s smile, this time, tinted tense. “Could you go and collect this list of reagents, please? They’re the last handful of things we’re going to need.”

“Oh, yes! Of course, Jaina!” Taking the list which his Aunt handed to her and sparing him a bubbly “goodbye Prince Anduin. It was good to see you again” before bolting off. Anduin let out a relieved sigh. Jaina’s expression was apologetic. “I’m sorry about that.”

The Crown Prince shook his head. “Don’t apologize. It isn’t a problem most of the time.” He said. “It’s just….”

“She’s a bit too talkative to be told about Garrosh.”

“Well, that’s certainly one way to word it.” He said softly. “This is…actually about Garrosh. Well, to a point. I’m riding out to the Dragonmurk today. To Onyxia’s lair. To put at least a portion of what I went through back then to rest. Garrosh will be meeting me. Father thinks I’m going alone. He’s permitted it only if you agree to scry after me in case I run into any danger.”

“You’re certain that he’ll be where you expect to meet him?” Jaina asked. “Did you get the chance to specify?”

“Not even an hour ago, yes.” He said. “It’s not too much trouble?”

“Of course not.” Jaina told him. She sounded like she meant it. Anduin smiled. “I trust that the Overlord will be able to protect you in the event you run into anything that might be out there, as well as your ability to protect yourself if need be. But, if only for the sake of your father’s peace of mind, I’ll check in from time to time.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course. This is, after all, the last chance the two of you will really get to talk for quite a while.” She said. “The choice you’re faced with…I know how hard it is. It nearly destroyed me, Anduin, and it’s the last thing I ever wanted for you.”

“I know.” Anduin’s smile thinned. Kinndy reappeared around the door frame before he could say anymore on the matter. “Well, I’ll be getting out of your hair. Have a goodnight, Aunt Jaina. Ms. Sparkshine.”

The sun hung just passed its highest point in the sky, but though the day now marched towards evening the muggy heat showed no signs of abating. A thin sheen of sweat beading across his skin, sticking his shirt to his chest and back and stray locks of hair to his brow. Blinking salt from his already burning blue eyes the Crown Prince charted a hasty path towards the stables and selected the same horse he’d ridden to their last meeting. Smiling at the friendly snort he received in greeting, he slipped a bridle and saddle onto the Balikun and pulled himself once more onto its back.

The horse’s hooves clip clopped merrily against the uneven cobbled streets of Theramore. At a much more reasonable hour, and with the sun still holding considerable tenure in the sky, no one he passed spared him more than the occasional glance and respectful nod in greeting.

He found Garrosh waiting for him astride Zosha just to the side of the only road which cut its way through the whole of the marsh, at a midway point between the nearest two sets of guards stationed at intervals along it. He smiled at the sight of his mate, and received a flash of sharp tusks and a deep rumble of greeting in return.

“Kil’azi.” Garrosh looked like he wanted to pull him in and check him over, satisfy his instincts that even after so long apart the little Omega was still ok, but narrowly resisted. Not knowing if Anduin had some means on him, or at the very least in mind, to conceal his scent from Varian’s notice upon his return to the city he’d left behind. “Managed to slip your guards, I see.”

“On the condition that Jaina scry after me on occasion.” Anduin flashed a thin smile, nudging his mount a bit closer to the Orc’s panting worg and resisting the desire to butt his head against his arm (the only part of the much larger Orc that he could easily reach from that position). “I don’t share my father’s concerns. My Alpha will be with me, after all, and even if the Black Flight has returned, I’m sure that he’ll be able to protect me.”

The warrior’s wolfish golden eyes narrowed. “Where, exactly, are you planning on taking this ‘pleasure ride’ that might lead us into crossing paths with Black Dragons?”

“The Dragon Murk. Former lair of Onyxia. The place where I was held captive as a child.” Anduin could hear the grim tone which had tinted his voice. “And this isn’t a pleasure ride. We spoke of putting Demons to rest when we last met and…I thought I’d take the chance while I was here. And I wanted you with me. Because you’re my Alpha and I trust you. Because…you make me feel safe enough that I can force myself to walk into the cave instead of freezing, even knowing it’s abandoned.”

“The Wyrmbog, as you call it, is down to the south passed Brackenwall.” Garrosh rumbled. “We’ll have to head up and around the west shore if we want to avoid swimming.”

“It is, rather unfortunately, quite far.” He said. “Unfortunate we couldn’t requisition flying mounts.”

“We’ll have to avoid the main road, Kil’azi, if we don’t want to be seen by the so-called guards posted every hundred yards along it.” The fact that that would tack on even more time to their travels went unsaid. “Let’s get moving.”

Nudging his horse forward, hearing the hiss of the Balikun’s hooves moving through the high brown grass, Anduin smiled. “Well, at least this means that we’ll get to spend a considerable number more hours together.”

Garrosh grunted. “Being stuck on a wolf with you out of reach isn’t my idea of quality time spent.” Anduin’s face tinted pink at the implication of those words. “Will I even be able to touch you tonight?”

“Father could hardly call it suspicious if I returned head to toe in mud after so long spent out here in the marsh.” The Prince smirked. “I think swamp muck will be even more affective than the sea water, so by all means, touch me. Touch me a lot.”

This time, his rumble was one of laughter. “Careful, Kil’azi, that you don’t accidentally invite something you’re not quite ready for.”

Pink darkened to a hot red down his neck. “I-I hadn’t meant…I do  want you. I think I’ve already made that clear. It’s just…I’m not ready.”

“I’m not either, so you don’t have to panic.” The warrior grunted. “We’ve done things haphazardly and out of order up until now but that aside I’ll still see it done right. And there’ll be none of that until we’re properly mated and I have you well away from those Alliance dogs.”

Though the ferocity of his blush didn’t lessen, Anduin couldn’t help but burst into a fit of rollicking laughter. “Light, and they claim that you’re a savage! Most _Human_ Alphas couldn’t care less about doing ‘right’ by their Omega.”

“Alphas that act in such a way don’t _deserve_ Omega!”

Another small smile. Anduin dropped his gaze to the saddle horn in front of him. “I don’t want my first time to be during a heat.” He couldn’t bare to raise his head and look at his mate through his embarrassment, but could feel the Orc’s eyes on him. “I want to be able to remember it clearly.”

Garrosh looked at him oddly but remained silent for so long before replying that Anduin had almost succeeded in convincing himself that his Alpha wasn’t going to. “I’m not even certain if we’ll be able to at any other time, or even then.” His heavy brows drew together. “I’m multiple times your size, Anduin.”

“We’ll find a way to make it work.” Anduin sounded resolute, his cheeks aflame. “I’ve heard a great many…steamy stories from the Blood Elven Crusaders while I was afield. They’re into strange things in Silvermoon. If no one else, I’m sure that the Sin’dorei will have a solution.”

“Knife Ears.” Anduin distinctly heard him grumble.

The little Paladin laughed, no longer able to resist shooting a brief glance in his mate’s direction only to find him hunched in his saddle in annoyance. Reaching up to push a stray lock of hair behind one ear. “When are you going to tell me what it is, exactly, that makes you dislike the Blood Elves so much?”

“When you tell me what there is about them _to_ like!” Garrosh growled. “They’re high and mighty. Pompous. Arrogant. Too concerned with their hair and nails and ‘pretty’ faces to be of any real use to the Horde.”

“You say ‘pretty’ like you don’t agree with the assessment.”

“That’s because I _don’t_!” Garrosh said. “’Pretty’ to an Orc means something decidedly different than it means to a Human.”

“Tusks and battle scars?” Anduin asked.

“To say the least.”

“You do realize that I only fit half of that description.”

The Overlord leered at him again. “There are always exceptions.”

“I’ve been told by quite a few people that I’m an exception to quite a few things.” He tried to keep his tone bright but the small smile that he flashed was tinted with pale sadness. “Do you eve wish…that it was someone else?”

“That what was someone else?”

The little Omega looked at him with glassy eyes, insecurity plain on his features. It was almost enough to make him call Zosha to a stop and pull him off. “Wish that it was someone else. That you imprinted on. That imprinted on you. An Orc?”

“Anduin.” Never mind the fact that before they’d imprinted the answer to that would have ben an immediate ‘yes’ Garrosh really didn’t want to have this conversation. “I’ll be the first to admit that I hate Humans and I doubt that fact will ever change. But you’re not ‘a Human’. You’re _my_ mate.” He said. “And I’m sure that I could ask you the same question. Wouldn’t you rather have a Human mate. Or, at least, a mate from an Alliance race so that you wouldn’t have to leave your home?”

“Home is where your heart is, Garrosh.” Anduin said softly, the glassiness having retreated leaving his blue eyes soft in its wake. “And as of now, my heart is with you.”

“If that’s the case,” Garrosh said, “I take it that I should be expecting you in Orgrimmar soon?”

The Prince grimaced. Dropping his gaze back to the saddle horn in front of him. “I still need more time.”

The Mag’har huffed but said nothing and silence fell between them.

The sun had continued its inevitable progress towards the opposite horizon in the meanwhile and was just above the tree tops when the Orc spoke again. “Brackenwall village is just over that rise there.” A plate finger further indicated the mentioned direction. “If we don’t make it to this ‘Dragon Murk’ soon we won’t make it back to Theramore by sundown. How much further?”

“Another few miles, I should think. At least if the maps I looked at were correct.” Anduin said. “It’s been a few years since I’ve last been here. Almost a decade to be exact. And…the trauma of it all kind of blurred most of it to a considerable degree.”

Another silence, though shorter than the one proceeding it. This time, Anduin was the first to speak. “With tomorrow being a ‘day off’ I don’t doubt father will take advantage of the lack of talks to keep on even closer eye on me than usual so I doubt we’ll be able to see each other again like this before the summit comes to an end.” He said. “We should discuss a means of keeping in contact. Perhaps even meeting up again after everyone goes back to their respective cities.”

“That feathered monster seemed capable enough before this ridiculous ‘summit’ of Proudmoore’s.” Garrosh grunted. “I don’t see any reason why it can’t continue to do so. And there are plenty of neutral places on both the Eastern Kingdoms and Kalimdor for us to make use of.”

“The Eastern Kingdoms and Kalimdor?” Anduin raised a playful eyebrow at him. “I thought you hated magic, Garrosh. But there’s no way you’d be able to make it to the Eastern Kingdoms from Orgrimmar in anything close to a timely manner without its use.”

“I do hate magic,” he grumbled. “But I’ll tolerate whatever I have to in order to see you.”

Anduin beamed. Huffing, the much larger Alpha made a poor attempt to pretend it didn’t please him.

A small eternity of buzzing insects squelching mud and crunching leaves the trees finally gave way around them, revealing a stretch of open mucky ground with the uneven form of a volcano rising from the center. Though scattered with the ragged forms of wooden effigies and a myriad of bones which were clearly draconic in origin though not belonging to whelps or drakes. Though it was difficult to tell in the dying daylight Anduin looked suddenly paler than he had been before as he clambered down from the back of his mount. The fine leather riding boots he wore making contact with the marshy ground with an unpleasant squish.

For a long moment the Paladin stood where he had landed, lip pulled between his teeth and one hand gripping his horse’s reigns like a lifeline, and though those clear signs of distress had his Alpha pushed for him to go to his mate Garrosh didn’t move. This, he could tell, was something Anduin needed to do on his own. The Mag’har watched, and waited and finally the little Omega released his hold on the reigns and took a step forward.

And kept moving. Picking his way across the unstable marshland-drier here than it had been further out but still unstable-between the sun-bleached skeletons and fraying sculptures towards the gaping opening of a cave which burrowed into the side of a smoking volcano. Leaving Zosha where she stood, Garrosh followed.

Anduin hadn’t waited for him to catch up and was already scrabbling up the slopping entrance by the time he arrived. Booted feet and gloved hands bracing themselves against whatever they could as he weaved between the towering juts of stone which curved backwards like teeth in the mouth of a gigantic beast. Reaching the top he swiftly vanished inside, almost as if he were attempting to avoid giving himself the opportunity for hesitation.

Though the opening of the cave was comfortably wide the curving passage beyond it rapidly narrowed to the point where Garrosh at times found himself forced to turn sideways in order to fit his shoulders through. It was difficult to believe that this place had once been the lair of something the size of a full-grown Black Dragon, the largest of the five Flights.

It had been hot outside, even on the verge of sunset, but inside the Volcanic Cavern it was absolutely sweltering and Garrosh swiftly found himself sweating beneath his leathers. The air was thick with fumes that stung his chest and made his eyes water. Lit only by the faint orange flow of the veins of molten rock latticing the walls, Anduin was reduced to little more than a dark silhouette.

An ambient rumbling surrounded them. The rock beneath their feet vibrated gently. Garrosh refused to allow himself to think about the fact that the most likely cause of both phenomena was a river of molten rock. Reaching the end of the passage came as something of a relief.

The veins of lava were larger here, some being as thick around as his forearm as they crawled through the rock making up the walls and ceiling, and in concert with the pools of magma boiling near their bases provided enough light to reveal the shattered eggs and mummified whelpling corpses littering the cavernous chamber. And the rusted manacles bolted to the wall in the far back.

Manacles small enough to bind a Human child.

His Alpha snarled, but Garrosh forced his anger down. Balling his fists until his gauntlets creaked.

Anduin approached the manacles with a stilted gate before sinking to his knees before them with a heavy sigh. Lifting one of the bindings into his small hands and holding it for a moment before pulling back the mouth of one of his gloves.

Revealing the scar which braceleted his wrist. A scar which Garrosh had seen before but now made much more sense.

“You pulled them off.” Garrosh’s voice rumbled off the vaulted ceiling. “To free yourself.”

“Had to break my hands in order to do it. And I still degloved one wrist. But she was going to feed me to her babies.” He rose but didn’t face him. “My attempt to escape didn’t end well but father arrived in time to save me. Scoured the life out of the Dragon Murk for what Onyxia did.”

Garrosh huffed. “The one thing I’ll give your father is that he understands his duty to protect you.” He said. “Something else is bothering you.”

Anduin turned towards him at last, expression tight. “No. Nothings bothering me.” He said. “They bury their own. All the Flights do. Of course the body wouldn’t be here anymore.”

Golden eyes ricocheted around the chamber, the warrior suddenly going stiff. How had it not dawned on him before? There were plenty of broken shells. Plenty of dead whelpings. But signs of a full-grown Dragon were nowhere to be seen.

Bury their own or not something about the notion of the missing corpse didn’t sit well with him. Garrosh suddenly found himself possessed of the powerful desire to leave. “Are we done here, Kil’azi.”

He didn’t want to push him to leave before he was ready but there was something off about the area.

“Yes.” Anduin said, but he didn’t move right away. Remaining where he stood a handful of moments more, as if rooted to the spot, before finally starting back towards the passage that they’d come through. “It’s time that we be heading back anyway.”

Garrosh wasn’t particularly pleased with the reminder that he had to parted with his mate. That his mate was returning to his father’s watch. Growling, he followed him out.

Anduin was perched atop his horse by the time Garrosh emerged and watched him as he mounted Zosha. There was something in the depths of his eyes that made him look like a skittish animal, but he forced a small smile onto his face and said “I feel better, having come here again. Having seen for myself with certainty that they’re gone. All gone. That there’s nothing left to come after me anymore.”

“Even if there was something left it’d have to come through _me_ first.” Garrosh growled. “The only outcome that would amount to is you having a wardrobe full of Dragon hide.”

“An entire wardrobe? Such a thing would be far too expensive for me to accept!”

“Not expensive if I’m the one killing them.”

Anduin laughed, then. He sounded normal, his tone lacking the concern which remained shadowed on his face, and that much came as something of a relief. “Do you really think that black is my color, Garrosh?” he asked, smiling.

The Orc huffed. “It’s not about ‘color’ Kil’azi.”

“Well, I personally think the Blue or Bronze Dragonflight would fit my complexion better.”

All Garrosh could do was roll his eyes. Anduin laughter echoed through the trees.

They fell silent after that, and remained so for most of their ride back. Finally, Anduin spoke again.

“Light, with the day off from talks tomorrow if I’m able to get out from beneath father’s eye I’ll consider it a miracle.” He said. “It’s unfortunate that this will be the last time we’re able to speak candidly before this little gathering ends.”

Garrosh grumbled something about how it was ‘ridiculous’ to refer to the Theramore summit as a ‘little gathering’ and said “well, we should make use of the chance to plan our next meeting then, shouldn’t we?”

“Normally, I’d say yes. But considering that there’s no way for me to know when I’ll next be able to slip away from father for long enough to meet you. I don’t think that would work to well.” Anduin sighed and pulled his horse to an abrupt stop, swinging down from the saddle. “Give me a moment to roll in this puddle of mud.”

“We can plan the other aspects of it, Kil’azi.” The Alpha pointed out. “If we’re a location and method planned in advance than even the briefest opportunities can readily be seized.”

“I suppose you have a point with that much.” Grimacing and apparently of the mindset to simply get it over with, Anduin got down onto his hands and knees before fully lying down in the murky puddle. Flipping onto his back a moment later before springing immediately back to his feet. “Though I’m afraid we’re limited in our options, at least for the time being, as I won’t be able to go very far from Stormwind.”

Greenish brown water trickled down along the delicate shaping of his nose as the little blonde scraped mud away from his face. Garrosh felt confident that the mud would do its job perfectly; Anduin smelled absolutely foul. No one would willingly to go close enough to _that_ to search for conspicuous smells. “Bogpaddle then. Will that suit you, Kil’azi?”

Anduin blinked rapidly in a failed effort to clear the mud from his long lashes. “The neutral Goblin town in the Swamp of Sorrows?” Garrosh’s grunt was close enough to confirmation for the Omega, because he nodded, after a moment’s thought, and said “that’s only about a 45 minute flight out from Stormwind, and as a neutral town no one will ask too many questions. Though I think a Glyph of Disguise wouldn’t be remiss on my part, just in case.”

“Whatever protections you feel the need to go through.” The Mag’har said, turning his head to glare at the curve of Theramore’s wall, just visible through the darkness and thick trees from where they stood. “I suppose that this is where I have to leave you for the night?”

The urge to stay with his mate, consequences be damned, welled up within him. Anduin sighed and turned away, unable to meet Garrosh’s eyes. “Yes.” He said. “It is.”

“You’ll be safe on your own from here?” A small smile tugged at the Paladin’s face as he nodded, still not looking up. “Goodnight, Kil’azi.”

“Goodnight, Garrosh.” Another moment passed before the Orc moved away, the lack of his presence leaving the Omega’s chest feeling hollow. Sighing again, Anduin prodded the horse he sat atop forward towards the city. Passing through the gates a couple minutes later.

Returning his mount to the stables, Anduin freed it from the saddle and bridle and brushed out its fur before trudging, exhausted and bothered by his Alpha’s absence, his Omega disquieted, back to the Royal flagship.

Varian caught sight of him and raised an eyebrow. “Did you fall into a puddle?”

For the third time in twenty minutes the little Paladin sighed, doing his best to screw his face into something that could pass as embarrassment. “The ground looked more solid than it was.” He said sheepishly. “You should have seen my horse.”

Varian chuckled, the sound rumbling in his wide chest. Stepping forward he put a hand on his shoulder, his massive palm easily engulfing it. “Go have Wyall draw you a bath so you can wash before bed.”

“I planned to. I smell like swamp and horses.” Anduin reached up to make yet another doomed attempt to scrape the tacky muck from his cheeks. “Since we’re not going to be meeting for the summit tomorrow, I think I’ll spend some time with Aunt Jaina, if that’s alright. And maybe practice a bit of archery.”

“I think that’s a good idea.” Varian sounded approving. “It’s been almost two years since the two of you have had time to sit down to a meal together.”

“Breakfast in the Mage Tower it is, then.” Anduin said. “Goodnight, father.”

“Goodnight.” The Prince made it halfway across the deck before his father called him back. “Anduin.”

The Paladin paused and turned. “Yes?”

“Are you alright?”

There it was. The question which Anduin had hoped wouldn’t be asked but knew he couldn’t reasonably escape from. Despite his best efforts he felt his expression slip. “Yes.” He said. “I feel better having gone. Having seen for myself that she isn’t coming back.”

“Good.” Varian said, nodding, though he still looked concerned. “Go to bed.”

He felt his father’s gaze pursue him down the stairs.


	6. Twilight Sabotage

“I only checked in on the two of you a handful of times last night.” Jaina had seemingly been content with small talk up until then, leaving poor Anduin entirely blindsided by the sudden change of topic. “I trust that you and the Overlord behaved?”

The Prince inhaled his mouthful of fresh mana pun and immediately began to cough. The Arch Mage reaching across the table to thump him firmly on the back with one hand while passing him his cup of tea with the other. The Omega gulped half the cup in one go, scalding himself in the process.

“Light, Jaina!” He wheezed, dropping the cup back onto the table and allowing it to clatter against its saucer. “Are you trying to kill me?”

His ‘Aunt’ rolled her eyes snickering. “Of course not.” She said, smirking. “What I’m trying to do is make sure that my dear nephew doesn’t go further than he’s ready to with his Alpha. Breaking the fact that it was the Light’s will that you be mated to the one Orc he hates most in the world without simultaneously breaking the news that you’re with child.”

Anduin, who’d been halfway through lifting the mana bun back to his mouth, promptly put it down again. Treating his Aunt to a perturbed glare. “So, in short, the answer is yes. ‘Yes, Anduin, I am trying to kill you.’”

The Mage grinned and shook her head. “No. I’m trying to prevent your father from doing that.” She said. “Have you considered how you’re going to go about telling him?”

Anduin stared at her like a deer in the sights of a Hunter.

Jaina sighed. “You need to.”

“I know that.” He jabbed at his cup of hot tea with enough force that the liquid nearly sloshed out onto his hand. “It’s just…I love my father. I think you know that. But…our King is a stubborn man. Set in his ways. He’d never except my Alpha.”

“Anduin-.”

“I asked him, Jaina, while we were in the North.” Anduin said. “What he would do if anyone were to be found to have had a relationship, willingly, with an Orc. With ‘the enemy’. Treason, Jaina. Not miscegenation. Even me. And we both know what the only punishment for treason is.”

“Anduin Llane Wrynn, your father would _never_ kill you. Even if you ran off one day, wore your pants on your head and declared yourself the Warchief of the Horde.” Jaina’s voice was stern. “Banish you, maybe. Strike you from the bloodline, perhaps. Call you an enemy and a traitor in front of others. Even cross swords with you were you ever to meet on the battle field. But he’d never kill you. Could never do anything but love you. And if you ever had need of rescue in the aftermath, he’d be the first to your aid.”

“I wish I could say that I have faith in as much.” Blue eyes fell heavily to the gold leafed plate set before him. Pathing through the wasteland of golden crumbs and icing left behind.

“You’re not the only one who knows how to stubborn your father can be.” Jaina said. “I have known Varian since we were a few years younger than you. But the longer you put this the worse it will be; you need to get ahead of it all or the fall out with be worse.”

“I know.” He nudged the half-eaten bun around the plate in front of him with his thumb. All remaining interest in eating it gone. “It’s just…I’m not ready yet. To leave. To never see Stormwind again.”

“You don’t know that you won’t.”

Anduin sighed and shook his head. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping by asking this, but do you miss it?”

“Kul Tiras, you mean?” The Prince answered with a mute nod. Jaina shifted her position into something more comfortable and leaned further back in her chair. Pouring herself a fresh cup of tea. “I do. And my brothers. My mother. My father. I still see Boralus sometimes, in my dreams.” She looked up at him, then, with a worn sadness in his eyes. “But our situations aren’t the same. You’re not changing between your ideals and your father’s life. Not truly betraying anything. Varian will come to see that in time.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“Then fight to make him see it. Fight with the Horde, with Garrosh, to end the Faction War. To make life better for Omegas within the Alliance so that no one else has to live as you did or worse.” She set her cup aside. “There’s a reason that the Light brought the two of you together. A warmonger and a peace keeper. If anyone can make a lasting impact on Azeroth for the better, it’s you.”

The Prince tilted his head. “Are you telling me to help the Horde defeat the Alliance?”

“I’m telling you to break chains. To draw strength from your regrets. Because you may yet be King of more than Stormwind.” A brief smile. “But I think that’s a bit too heavy of a topic for this time of morning. Would you like another mana bun?”

“Never think I have an issue with your cooking, Aunt Jaina, but this line of conversation has soured me on eating for…the rest of the day at the very least.”

The older woman snorted and rolled her eyes. “You’ve certainly inherited your father flare for drama.”

Anduin cracked a small smile. “Well, ever since I left the path of a Priest for that of a Paladin people have stopped suggesting that we’re not actually related.” He said. “I’ve been meaning to ask permission.”

“For?”

“The use of the green; to borrow a bow and some arrows from the city stores, to be precise.” Anduin finished the last of his tea and set the cup aside. “It’s been a good few years since I’ve really had the chance to sit down and practice archery. And with the way he goes on about hunting I think it’s best I brush up on my aim.”

“Already planning to take you to Nagrand?”

“I doubt it would come as a revelation for either of us to state he’s far from the most patient creature.”

“Not at all.” Jaina said. “Are you an honorary Warsong yet or is it still too soon?”

“At this rate? Probably next week.” The Prince snickered. “About that bow?”

“Of course, you’re welcome to borrow a bow and quiver for a bit of practice.  I think I told you that the last time that you were here.” ‘When you were still too afraid to go outside’ went unsaid.

The Paladin’s grimace revealed that it hadn’t gone unthought of. “Yes, well, that was some years ago.” He said. “And I saw for myself last night that they’re gone, now. There’s nothing here for me to be afraid of anymore.”

“Ah, the immortality of youth.” Anduin’s rolling eyes were nearly audible. “More tea for the road?”

“Tempting as that is, if we keep having ‘one more for the road’ we’ll be here all day. And I’m sure you’ve more important things to do than entertain royalty.” Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. Anduin, grinning, rose from the little table where they’d been seated for just short of two hours now. “Thank you for breakfast, Jaina. With…everything I’m not sure when we could arrange it, and the next venue will probably be Orgrimmar, but we should do this more often. I don’t get to see you enough.”

“Are you sure its my company you don’t get enough and not my mana buns?”

“Well, I won’t deny that I don’t get enough of those either.”

They shared a laugh. Though the humor didn’t fully touch his eyes, it was good to see some of the stress and worry lift from his features.

“I’m sure I’ll see you at least once more before the two of you go back to Stormwind, if only because of tomorrows meeting.” Jaina said. “Have a good day, Anduin.”

“You as well. And thanks again.”

Even with a good few hours left to go before noon, the city outside the Mage Tower was already a bustle with its normal crowds. Guardsmen on patrol or at their stations or headed towards the inn for a meal and a bit of rest, having just gotten off shift. Dock workers schlepping boxes, cutting rope and directing the comings and goings of ships; shouting to each other in coarse voices. Everyday citizens at market or headed to work.

Even with half of the city between where he stood and the harbor, he could still smell the tang of brine in the air and spy the tip of the royal flagship’s rippling sail. Trotting around the base of the Mage Tower, receiving a few curious looks from another handful of the city guard though no attempts were made to stop him, Anduin finally made it to the little shed containing practice armaments for sparing. Selecting one of a handful of bows hanging on pegs against the back wall and hefting a half full quiver over one shoulder he made his way back out into the late morning sunlight.

Though the hottest part of the day had yet to come the marsh humidity was already in full swing, and as he made his way back around to where he’d seen a handful of targets, he could feel the dark blue shirt he wore sticking to his back. Stray strands of golden hair had plastered themselves to his brow; after making a few failed attempts to push them back into some semblance of order he simply gave up and left them be.

Blinking burning sweat from his eyes and with his hands kept busy with his bow the Paladin was left with little choice but to peel them off with his teeth and shove them into his belt for safe keeping. Knocking the first arrow on the string Anduin quickly discovered just how bad his aim had become when it flew shy of the target and shattered against the stone wall behind it.

At least he hadn’t slapped himself with the string and dropped the bow. That would have truly been embarrassing.

Anduin lifted the bow again but didn’t knock another arrow. Simply pulled back the string and held its draw. Focusing his gaze down what would have been the body of an arrow had he truly been intended to shoot. The bow had a leftward lean to its tension, and a nature to pull up when fired. Pulling another arrow and adjusting his stance accordingly he fired again and this time managed to hit the target, just to the left and above the bullseye. Still a bit more adjustment needed, it seemed.

As he reached back over his shoulder to pull a third arrow from the quiver on his back the hairs on the back of his neck rose. His Omega reacting to the threat before he could process it; the blinding shield of Holy Magic turning the blade which had been aimed at his back before it could reach him. Startled and confused, penned in by the large target and the stone wall behind him, the Prince backed away from his would-be assassin as much as he was able. An Orc, from the look of him, though Anduin knew immediately from the odd dress and hammer symbol that he wasn’t Horde.

He didn’t have a blade on him and the bow in his hands was next to worthless in close quarters unless he wanted to break it over his attacker’s head. And even if he’d had a melee weapon and supplemented his natural strength with winds, as he’d been trained, as both a Human and an Omega it would still be far too simply for the Orc to overpower him.

It was better to extricate himself from the situation and seek out help. And he needed to do it soon as his bubble had nearly run out.

Calling the Light to his finger tips in a blinding flash, forcing his attacker to recoil with a yowl, Anduin dropped his shield and bolted. He didn’t have to go far, surely, to come into contact with the city guard or even some of his father’s men. His assassin, whomever he was and whomever had sent him, surely wouldn’t make it far beyond Theramore once the alarm had been raised.

Rounding the corner at full speed Anduin skidded to such a sudden stop that he almost took a header down the hill. He wasn’t the only one who’d been attacked; his assassin wasn’t alone! Fires had been lit throughout the city, burning an unnatural blueish hue and giving off acrid smoke. More figures-not just Orcs but a variety of races; Human, Blood Elf, Goblin, more-darting through the haze. Lashing out at fleeing citizens and city guardsmen as the scrambled to get a grip on the situation.

They were being attacked! But why? By whom? The Hammer on the lapel of his attacker wasn’t a symbol that he recognized. It meant nothing to him.

Ultimately, Anduin supposed, who they were didn’t matter. They needed to be stopped. And there wasn’t much that he could do while armed with only a bow.

He needed another weapon and luckily enough, grizzly as it was to think of such a thing as ‘lucky’, he found just that on the nearby body of what had once been a city guard. Overly long and poorly weighted but better than nothing. It would have to do.

Hefting the weapon the best he could and gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white, the Prince resumed running down the hill towards the city streets. His first order of business was getting back to the royal flagship. His father would be there and would better know how to handle such a situation than he would, even with the battle experience Anduin had managed to accrue up in the North.

But reaching his destination meant wading through the city square, where much of the worst fighting was currently taking place. The Theramore guard had formed a blockade line in an effort to defend the civilians whom had fled to other parts of the city but with the way that their aggressors were hammering their lines the Omega wasn’t certain how long they would hold out.

Putting on a last burst of speed as he hit the bottom of the hill Anduin took a flying leap into the fray. Wings of blinding light unfurling behind him as he brought the unwieldly blade in his hands down on the nearest foe. They yelp they let out as they fell alerted the rest of the attacking group to his presence; all of the close to fifteen of them immediately turned on him and began to advance in the same manner as a horde of ghouls.

Coiling down into a fighting stance, Anduin acted quickly to consecrate the ground beneath his feet in hopes that the powerful Holy magic would prevent too many of them from mobbing him at once. Veins of molten gold shattered the uneven cobblestones beneath him but beyond an initial moment of caution they did little to keep them back. Forcing Anduin to call up a ring of shinning blades to hold back most of the group for long enough for the guard to pull their attention away.

That still left him toe to toe with five at once. Thank the light for the fact that battle with the Scourge had left him well versed in being out numbered. Deflecting a blade from one side Anduin pivoted on the ball of his foot. Pinning the raised weapon of another overhead with a wrist block, wincing as the blade of their dagger sheered through his sleeve and into the flesh beneath, and driving the pommel into his side with enough force to break ribs.

Ducking an overhead blow, the little blonde heel-toed around the much larger form of an attacking Tauren and lobbed a judgement at the back of his head before he could turn. The ground shuddering as the Tauren fell atop two of his fellows.

Seizing his chance to make a break for it Anduin turned and bolted in the direction of the Harbor. Two streets and a stretch of open docks were all that stood between him and safety.

The Prince made it down one of those streets before a hulking shape plummeted out of the sky just yards in front of him.

Dark scales. Charred horns. The Black Dragon mantled its wings and turned. Massive head and long, sinuous neck swinging around. Pitiless red eyes focusing on him; so close that he could see his own terrified expression in its gaze.

Joints locking up so badly that he nearly collapsed Anduin skidded to a stop. The sword he held dropping with a clang. Fear froze him in place. Mind blank aside from images of that horrible monster which had nearly killed him as a child. Powerless to flee the flood of fire rushing towards him.

“ _Move_!” Just as he was certain death was staring him in the face, the flames close enough to raise little blisters across his skin, something heavy threw him to the uneven flagstones with such force his ribs threatened to break. A much larger body forming a protective cage of flesh and plate around him as a wall of rock, leaping up from the ground, diverted the flow of dragon fire over their heads.

Anduin could hear someone yelling nearby. Harsh Orcish tones which doubtlessly belonged to Rehgar but he couldn’t make out much more than ‘incredibly reckless’ and ‘you’d both have been killed’ over the receding panic and sudden surge of ‘Alpha’ and ‘safe’ which streamed from his other half.

Anduin’s desperate wriggling in his grasp was enough to prompt the Orc to draw back and stare at him. Blue eyes wide with terror, all he could do to explain himself was squawk an entirely undignified “it’s still here!” only to be drowned out by a furious roar as the two Shaman behind them drove the beast back into the sky.

“What are you doing running around in the middle of a siege? Where are your damned guards?” The fury in Garrosh’s golden eyes made him look more wolfish than ever.

“I didn’t need them to eat breakfast with Jaina. I went out to practice archery afterwards and one of them almost stabbed me in the back.” Anduin said. “Why are they doing this?”

“They call themselves the ‘Twilight’s Hammer’, Prince Anduin. Originally an Orcish clan and a part of the first Horde, they went mad not long after arriving on Azeroth. Appear to have devolved into some sort of cult.” Though the Warchief had lowered the Doomhammer he hadn’t stowed it at his belt; blue eyes flicking about for further signs of danger. “Are you alright?”

“I will be.” Anduin pushed himself up onto all fours, wincing as the motion put more pressure on the cut on his wrist. “How did you know what was happening? You can’t have seen that Dragon from Brackenwall, even with its size, and with no meeting today there was no reason for you to come to Theramore.”

“That feathered menace is useful for more than sending letters, Kil’azi.” Garrosh growled. “When it came without a letter and refused to land, I knew that something was wrong. The Windriders were able to get us here just in time.”

Thank the Light for Fionn. “I need to get to father!” His efforts to keep the panic from his voice fell through but Anduin couldn’t bring himself to care. “He’ll know what to do to repel these attackers. Jaina will probably be with him as well.”

“The Archmage is assisting in putting out fires, Prince Anduin.” Thrall informed him. “Though I’m sure she’ll do much the same as you once they’ve been contained.”

“Your ship isn’t far.” Rehgar rumbled. Narrowed eyes flicking around the square. “Go. We’ll cover you.”

Anduin glanced at Garrosh. The Overlord was watching keenly with his golden eyes, awaiting his reaction. Bending to retrieve the weapon he’d dropped, the Prince nodded. “Thank you, Rehgar. Warchief.” He said. “Would you accompany me, Garrosh? If these Twilight’s Hammer thugs are working with the Black Flight who knows what else they could have up their sleeves!”

“I’d be coming even if you hadn’t asked.” The Mag’har said, gripping his axe.

Barely holding back a smile in spite of himself Anduin took off at a run. Closing the last few hundred yards left between him and the city’s harbor. The sun-bleached boards clattering underfoot as they rushed along, vaulting up onto the gangplank and then the decks beyond. His eyes landing immediately on his father and calling out without thinking.

The guardsmen strewn across the desk like toy soldiers and the hunched posture the Warrior had adopted, like a wolf backed into a corner, registered a moment later.

“ ** _Anduin, no!”_**

Movement from his right. The Paladin’s head snapped around, meeting with the narrowed eyes of an Orcish woman before she pounced like a wild cat. Blades drawn.

Garrosh hauled him backwards and stepped into the line of fire. Gorehowl screaming as it was swung. The dull back connecting with a low thud and harsh huff of breath. Clearly not having expected to come face to face with an infuriated Warsong in the midst of attacking a Human ship the woman retreated a short distance. Crouching like an animal to observe them.

“You go through me first, Tov’osh!” Garrosh’s voice was thunderous. Every facet of him seemed to scream of defensive, Alpha. Anduin was so busy checking the decks around them for those who might be present to see what was occurring, and potentially put two and two together from it, that he almost missed what the Warrior had called the Rogue: Tov’osh. Half-breed. To him she simply appeared to be an Orc, if a smaller one than normal, but upon closer examination he noticed that she had the pupil less pale blue eyes of a Draeni.

“ _Garona!”_ His father bellowed, lunging Shalamayne bit into the deck where the half-Orc had been. The woman flipping backwards over the railing and vanishing.

Garona? That had been the woman whom his father had once considered a sister; whom had murdered his grandfather; whom was, in many ways, responsible for Varian’s hatred of half-Orcs. Was she working with the Twilight’s Hammer, then, and the Black Dragon through them? His head was spinning. A cold sensation seizing up his arm as it unfurled from the cut on his arm Varian seemed briefly torn between the desire to chase after the-doubtlessly now long gone-Rogue and running off the Overlord but came to the apparent decision that Garrosh was now the bigger threat. The two Alphas had begun to square up. Showing their teeth. Snarling at each other though Anduin couldn’t hear what they were saying over the roaring in his ears. His mouth Was suddenly very dry. The spinning and pitching getting worse.

The little Paladin took a step forward in an effort to break up the fight before it could truly start, only to have the deck of the ship rush up to meet him.

 

Anduin woke up lying on his back in what he quickly came to realize was his cabin in the bowels of the Alliance flagship. He wasn’t certain how many hours had passed but it was dark, the only light emanating from a low-burning candle. Fionn watched him from atop his bird perch. Varian was half-slumped at the small table beside the window, an unrolled scroll pinned beneath a hand the size of a Dwarven buckler and a pair of wire-rimmed reading glasses unseated on his crooked nose.

The listening of the ship was the only hint he had that they were moving.

Anduin slid his hands-one of them wrapped in herbal smelling bandages-beneath himself and sat up. Groaning softly when the motion prompted a headache to lance through his skull. The sound was quiet, but never the less the King jerked and sat up. Looking bleary.

“Anduin! You’re awake!” He hauled the chair which he’d been sitting in to his beside and dropped heavily back into it. “The Healers said that you’d been poisoned. Thank the Light it was only a small dose.”

He probably should have known better than to discount even a shallow wound as harmless. “How long have I been out?”

“Just over a day.” Varian poured water from a pewter pitcher and pressed the mug into his son’s much smaller hand. “Here. Drink.”

Despite his burning questions Anduin obeyed. His niggling thirst and trouble speaking audibly with how dry his mouth had become taking momentary precedent over the questions that burned in his chest like coals. Draining the metal cup, the Prince set it aside on the bedside table. “What happened at the last meeting of the summit?”

Varian’s expression darkened. “There wasn’t a last meeting.”

Anduin’s heart dropped. He knew that tone. “What happened?”

“We both know what happened!” He snapped. “The Horde hired that pack of miscreants to disrupt proceedings once the Orcs saw matters weren’t going their way.”

“The Horde?” Anduin repeated, aghast. “Father…forgive me for this but that’s utterly ridiculous! The Twilight’s Hammer, as they apparently call themselves, are working with the Black Flight not the Horde!”

“Were they?” the King’s thick eyebrows shot up into his wild hair. “And what evidence do you have of that?”

“Aside from the Dragon that attacked me halfway through the Harbor? If Garrosh Thrall and Rehgar hadn’t shown up when they did, I’d have been turned to charcoal.” The mere memory of the massive beast was enough to make Anduin shudder.

“And how was it, exactly, that thy knew to get there at so continent a moment?” Anduin looked over at the falcon whom simply ruffled his feathers in response. Varian sighed. “Of course.” He said. “Let me guess. The next thing you’re going to tell me is that you’re disappointed in my inability to work with the Green skins in a civil manner.”

“You said it, not me.” Anduin said around a half unwilling smile. Though Garrosh, no doubt, hadn’t reacted much better to the accusations his father had leveed. It was small wonder that Thrall and Jaina, even through combined efforts, hadn’t been able to maintain the peace. “What time is it?”

“Late.” All at once his father sounded old and tired. “You should be getting back to sleep. You’re still recovering, after all.”

Briefly, Anduin considered complaining but discarded the matter. His limbs were heavy with exhaustion. It was difficult to keep his eyes open. “I think that’s probably for the best.”

“Well,” his father rose from his seat, dragging the chair back to its proper position and gathering the scroll that he’d been reading, “good night, Anduin. If you need anything else tonight call for it.” He snuffed out the candle, plunging the room into full darkness. As the little Omega drifted off to sleep, he head the King’s heavy footsteps heading towards the door.


	7. Before the Storm

It had been almost three weeks now since they’d returned from Theramore Isle and with every day which passed things became stranger and stranger. A flurry of natural disaster with ever increasing severity. Fire raining from the sky at the behest of a rampaging dragon the size of an airborne city. Hooded doomsayers stalking the streets. Time and again Anduin had attempted to pen out a proper letter to Garrosh, both to inform him of the progress of his recovery and of the strange happenings, but each time he made the effort something else would occur and he’d be forced to revise yet again.

The alternate choice was the impractical notion of sending Fionn to Orgrimmar not with a single letter but rather with an entire sack of them. Anduin had no doubt that his mate would read them all no matter how arbitrary their contents, if only because written word was the sole available means of contact currently available to them. His real concern was the likelihood of SI:7 managing to intercept the falcon at last if the bird were ever to be burdened down with such a load.

So, he’d continued his stubborn attempts to preempt the next occurrence throughout the past week but over and over whatever calamity was ravaging their world had seemed hell bent on thwarting him. Finally, Anduin had come to the edge of his patience and elected to send the letter that day regardless.

Before he’d managed to do so he’d been forced to secret his progress away when Wyall had arrived and informed him of summons by his father.

That was how the young Prince had found himself outside the solid door of the High King’s study. Straightening his tabard, its sapphire face embossed with the likeness of a lion, he reached up to knock.

“Come in, Anduin.” His father’s low voice filtered into the hall. Curling gloved fingers around the gilded door knob, the Prince turned it and pushed the door open. Stepping forward into the room.

The King’s office was cavernous, dominated by the sturdy cedar desk behind which Varian sat, the northward facing windows which were set into the far wall and the expansive stone hearth inside which a fire blazed. His father was dressed in a fine button down and a stiff pair of pants rather than his armor, and Anduin couldn’t help but think that it made the Warrior look rather out of place. An eagle feather quill made to look delicate as a glass spindle between the fingers of his massive hand as he put the final flourishes of his signature down and looked up.

The Prince dipped his head in greeting. “You called for me, father?”

Varian’s scarred face was grim and lined with exhaustion. Setting the quill aside and clipping the inkwell closed, he reached up with one of those huge hands and scrubbed at his face, the silver scar across the bridge of his nose pulling taut. “I did.” He said. “You’re present with me every day for court. I know you’re aware of the madness they’ve taken to calling ‘the Shattering’ and of the fact that it’s getting worse so I won’t waste either of our time with rehashing the matter. The other leaders will be arriving in Ironforge soon for a summit. An effort to determine the best means of containing this madness is to be made.”

Containing it was about all that could be done. Nature was beyond anyone’s command and Anduin doubted that even a Shaman as powerful as Thrall would have been able to convince the elements to calm. Until it was determined what, precisely, was behind it all there was little they could do. “When should I be ready to depart?”

There was another long moment of silence where Varian simply stared at his son without answering. Then he straightened in his seat. “I’ll be leaving in the morning and, provided nothing immediately requiring my attention occurs, will be back in Stormwind a fortnight from now at the latest.” He said. “You’ll be holding court in my absence.”

Anduin pulled up short, almost owlish in surprise. “W-What?”

“You’ve been King before, my son, as much as we both regret the circumstances which lead up to it, and the time comes where you’re be King again. This time without a Reagent Lord to manage the difficult decisions.” Varian said. “I think it’s time you got a bit more practice on the throne before you wear the crown for real.”

That time would never come, Anduin knew, and the guilt of it twisted in his belly like a dagger. The little Omega scrunched up his expression. “You talk like you might die soon.”

Varian chuckled and shook his head, wild ponytail swinging behind him. “I don’t plan on it, no. But a King can retire his mantle a few years early can’t he?” he said. “Believe me, once you’ve worn it a while you’ll look forward to the day you can pass it to your son.”

A son he’d never have if he’d been content to continue the ruse and take a Beta as a mate, given that Omega-even Delta-couldn’t produce seed. And taking an Alpha that his father would have approved of in secret would have been incredibly difficult, not only in the effort of finding a Human Alpha-as the House of Nobles would accept nothing less than a fully Human heir as next in line-that would treat him properly but in managing the mysterious months long disappearances he’d have to undergo whenever he found himself with child. Nor would it stop him from dying young; the damage by the suppressants had already been done.”

Anduin knew the smile which he forced onto his face didn’t reach his eyes. If Varian noticed he made no comment. “I’m sure I will, father.” He said. “I’ll do my best to keep the House of Nobles in line.”

“I’ve every confidence in your ability to handle them. And Mathias is on standby should you have need of him.” Varian said. “Should anything happen don’t hesitate to call me back, summit be damned. I’ve told the Spymaster the same.”

Anduin nodded. “I won’t. If anything happens that I’m unable to handle on my own I’ll send word to Ironforge immediately.” He said. “Am I dismissed?”

“You are. Until dinner, at least.” Varian picked up his quill and exchanged the document in front of him for another. “I should be getting back to this paperwork.”

“And I’ve a letter to be finishing, so I’ll leave you be.” With another shallow bow, the Crown Prince turned and exited the royal study. Quietly closing the door behind him and returning to his own chamber a few doors down, taking care to control his pace.

Fionn turned his head as Anduin reentered, ruffling his white feathers where he sat on his perch. The little Omega smiled at the gyrfalcon and trotted over to his desk. Retrieving the half-completed letter from its hiding place within the upper drawer and swiftly scribbling down a final amendment.

_‘Meet me in the Bogpaddle Inn tomorrow evening.’_

Wiping his quill clean and setting it aside, Anduin folded the letter and sealed it securely with wax. Stamping the ring on his finger into it in order to emboss it with the official seal of House Wrynn. Not that Garrosh wouldn’t be well aware of whom had sent it otherwise.

Even if it wasn’t being delivered in the normal manner.

Tucking the letter into the inner pocket of his overcoat Anduin made his way over to where the falcon perched. Clicking softly and reaching a gloved hand up to stroke the raptor’s head, the Prince called it down onto his arm. Fionn didn’t require much encouragement and hopped off his perch. Powerful talons gripping the Omega’s arm as he sidled along to his favored perch atop his shoulder.

“I need this letter delivered a bit quicker than you can fly, pretty bird, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to rob you of a chance to stretch your wings.” He headed back towards the door. “Have a few laps around the city while I take this to Larimaine in the Mage Tower.”

Fionn churred, tugging a strand of his golden hair. Laughing, Anduin started down the hallway.

The sky was overcast with a thin layer of opalescent clouds, yet seemed content to merely threaten rain. A cool, salted breeze caressed his face, tugging at his clothing as he exited the Keep. The gyrfalcon on his arm spread his wings and lifted off into the air. Anduin watched him rise above the rooftops of Stormwind’s highest buildings on an updraft for a while before he stepped off the stairs of the Keep and onto the city’s streets.

Between all the time he’d spent fighting with the Argent Crusade in the far north, the recovery period following his stint of captivity in Icecrown and the recent summit in Theramore it had been far too long since he’d last walked the familiar lanes and bridges. Since he’d passed the stalls and storefronts and homes of his people. He should visit his mother’s grave after he’d delivered his letter. The royal garden, too. After all, he didn’t know how many more chances to do so that he’d get before the truth came out and he was banished from Elwynn Forest forever. It wouldn’t be Stormwind where he’d be buried. Wouldn’t be Stormwind where his funeral would be held.

It would be Orgrimmar. Or, perhaps, Nagrand. Anduin hadn’t studied Orcish funeral practices and knew only what Garrosh had told him of the Warsong Clan.

Picking up his pace, Anduin hurried across the green of the Mage District and rushed up the tower’s slanting ramp. He was greeted with the familiar hustle and bustle of the portal room inside; acolytes of the three schools of the arcane rushing about amid the ebb and flow of adventurers and civilian commuters and magical tomes fluttering about like birds. Stepping crisply around a self-sweeping broom, greeting those who called to him with a smile and a wave, the Crown Prince took a left turn into the tower’s main chamber and trotted to a stop in front of the woman he was looking for, who’d stationed herself beside the portal to the Caverns of Time. Even knowing that the Bronze Dragonflight shared none of the intentions of their Blackflight cousins he couldn’t help but keep it warily in the corner of his eyes.

“Your Highness?” the brunet mage looked surprised to see him, and Anduin supposed he couldn’t blame her. It wasn’t terribly often that the nobility made use of public portals and a Paladin had no use for magecraft. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve a letter, Ms. Purdue, that I’d like sent. Normally I’d entrust it to my companion’s capable talons but the turnaround is a bit too tight, this time, for even a Kul Tiran gyrfalcon to manage.” He said. “I’d be appreciative if you could teleport this to Lady Proudmoore, in Theramore. She’ll know what to do with it from there.”

“Of course, Prince Wrynn.” She reached out for it and, retraining a mild reluctance, he surrendered the sealed letter. “If I might ask whom the intended recipient is?”

Anduin offered a thin smile. “It’s a personal matter, I’m afraid.” He told her. “Could you send it along before I leave, please? Not to be secretive, but…it’s a rather private thing. I’m sure you understand.”

“A family matter?” she returned his smile.

“Of a sort.” He said.

“Well, far be it from me to meddle in royal business.” Larimaine’s eyes hazed violet and, a moment later, the letter in her hand vanished with a soft pop and a flash of arcane light. With the potentially incriminating document off to safe hands, Anduin felt something deep inside him unclenched in relief.

“Thank you, Ms. Purdue.” He said.

“Of course, my Prince.” She replied. “Always a pleasure. Have a good day.”

“You as well. Light be with you.” Exiting the Mage Tower a few moments later, after maneuvering his way between the rushing crowds, Anduin reemerged into the wan sunlight.

A high call reached his ears a moment before white feathers obscured his vision. Fionn reclaiming his place on the young Omega’s shoulder with a less than elegant thump. Inwardly, Anduin winced.

“Back already?” he asked, reaching up to stroke the bird as he dismounted the Mage Tower’s ramp. “You could fly around a bit more if you’d like. I won’t be going back to the Keep quite yet, and even when I do, I’d leave the window open for you.”

The falcon chirred and nipped at his fingers. Chuckling to himself the Crown Prince charted a path for Cathedral Square. There was little he could do, no, but wait for Garrosh’s reply.


	8. Out of the Bag

Spymaster Mathias Shaw had known that the Crown Prince’s damnable bird had been facilitating communications between Anduin and someone he didn’t want his father made aware of; though the feathered menace had proved impossible to corner and catch. Even so, the experienced Rogue had not given up. He’d served the royal family for more than long enough to know that it was only a matter of time before the Prince made a move. And the best opportunity he’d had in quite a while to do so would be while his father was away in Ironforge. As such, he’d left Renzik in charge of overseeing the necessary goings on and had positioned himself in the Paladin’s shadow.

A letter had arrived via arcane delivery that morning; it had only a few lines on it and, though its contents seemed to please the Prince, it was promptly burned before he could get close enough to read it. After stroking the white feathers for a while for a while he sent it off to the Trade District with a note and a satchel of coin and, finishing the last of his food, the little blonde had made his way down into the throne room and spent the next few hours holding court.

His patience, to the Paladin’s credit, had only grown deeper in the months which he’d spent up in the north. Anduin handled the verbal assaults of the House of Nobles with an even gaze and answered the entreating of his people the best that he could. But the Spymaster was not convinced by the show of good behavior and followed him back up to his room where the raptor had returned with a package.

“Just in time, Fionn.” Exchanging his blue and golden overcoat for a rough traveling cloak, dark in color and discreet, he slipped the little package into an inner pocket. “I’ll be back later tonight.” Sliding a scent wash into the same pocket and pulling the hood over his head, Anduin stepped out onto the balcony outside. Swinging himself lithely over the railing and shimmying down the Keep’s weathered wall. Heading for the aerie.

Quietly and at a safe distance, Mathias followed. Taking note of the stabled flight master’s griffon he saddled rather than one of the white griffon of the royal family. Flying below and behind him, allowing the steadily deepening shadows of evening to conceal him, the Spymaster tailed his Prince out across Duskwood’s dour trees and descended into the Swamp of Sorrows.

Even from above and with its full span visible the Goblin town of Bogpaddle was still a less than impressive cluster of shanty-like huts all clustered around a large, though far form luxurious, inn. Everything was tinged an unappealing greenish color by the haze of clouds which hung over the area. Anduin circled over it and descended into the trees just beyond sight of the walls. Dismounting onto the spongy ground.

After peering cautiously around them to ensure he hadn’t found himself in the sights of a hungry crockalisk, Anduin pulled the package he’d brought with him from out of his pocket and unwrapped the glyph inside. One that any rogue worth their salt would instantly recognize as a Glyph of Disguise. Activating it, and promptly being transformed into a female Blood Elf-a fact which seemed to throw him off a bit-he sauntered forward into town with the best impression he could muster of a Sin’dorei.

Which, honestly, wasn’t much of one but a handful of Goblins and a drunken Orc seemed fooled none the less judging by the wolf whistling which went up as he passed, ducking into the inn. The exchange started with a slimy ‘hey there, toots’ and ended with a frowning Prince who couldn’t get up the staircase beside the desk fast enough.

Ascending two floors, the disguised Paladin padded down the hallway to the indicated door and knocked over before pushing it open and stepping inside. The Spymaster on his heels.

They were met with golden eyes and a raised eyebrow. “I knew you were coming disguised as a Knife Ears,” the Orc rumbled, “but I hadn’t pegged you as a cross dresser.”

“Well, apparently my falcon did.” There was an almost sour tint to his voice as he ripped the glyph in half. His normal appearance returning. “With father away from the city I had to hold Court today so I couldn’t go to the Auction House myself.”

Garrosh Hellscream grunted. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, Kil’azi, you look good as a red head.”

“Oh?” raising an eyebrow himself as he sauntered forward, the Prince pressed his body against the larger male. A low purr building in his chest. “Shall I go red permanently, then?”

“Just because you look good as a red head doesn’t mean I don’t prefer you blonde.” He pulled the sapphire tie free, thick fingers threading through the freed golden strands. Gentle. Tender. Anduin leaned his head into the touch, butting against the Overlord’s hand like an overly affectionate feline. The purr growing louder. “I’ve already told you what I think of you.”

The Prince hummed in answer, assured hands roving across the muscled plains of the Orc’s wide chest. “You have.” He said. “A few times.”

Garrosh narrowed his golden eyes in confusion. “But?”

Anduin’s lips curled into a radiant smile. “You know me too well, Garrosh.”

“As any good Alpha would; its basic practice to know your mate.” Garrosh said. “I’m sure you know me just as well by now.”

“My dear Overlord, I take pains to know a great deal about a great many people. To gather cards which I can use later as I need.” He said. “How close I hold those cards to my chest depends on how close to the person in question that I am. And how likely they are to pose a threat in the future.”

“Another Omegan trait.” The Orc sounded exasperated.

“Royal trait, actually.” Anduin slipped from the Orcish warrior’s grip with comfortable ease. Starting across the room towards the hook on the far wall. There was a lilt to his voice when he continued “’the manipulative Omega’ is a harmful stereotype you know.”

“If it is, as you claim, a ‘Royal trait’ than it’s one your father lacks.”

Anduin’s laughter was soft as he pulled the cloak from his shoulders and hung it. “Father, much like you, is a warrior before he’s a politician.” He said. “Luckily for you, you have me.”

“Not yet I don’t.”  Garrosh grumbled. “And that matter is one I wanted to speak with you about rectifying. Though that can wait.”

“For?”

“Your ‘but’.”

“My butt?” Grinning mischievously and much to Mathias’ horror at the blatant flirtation in the gesture, Anduin reached behind himself. “What of it?”

“Don’t tempt me, Wrynn.”

More laughter. Radiating far too much comfort with the matter for the Spymaster’s peace of mind, the little Paladin propped himself languidly against the windowsill. “Yes, you’ve told me what you think of me before. But,” playful, he spun on his heel and gave a little wiggle which made the Warsong roll his eyes, “it’s nice to hear it again from time to time.”

The Alpha made a show of sighing. Anduin’s grin widened in response. “You’re beautiful, Kil’azi.” He said. “The unfortunate matter of your race aside.”

“Why, Garrosh, that’s so sweet of you.” Chuckling at the look the Orc sent him Anduin bounded over to the bed and collapsed atop it. Kicking off his boots and then stretching himself across the furs. “I find you quite fetching too, my dear Alpha. There’s just something about those tusks that gets me all hot and bothered.”

Mathias was now fully convinced that the Wrynn Heir had taken total leave of his good sense.

“Some of the things that come out of your mouth…”

“That’s me. Full of surprises.” Anduin flipped onto his back and patted the bed beside him. “Join me.”

“You’re certainly affectionate tonight.”

“It’s time I used a scent wash again anyway. No use wasting the opportunity.” He tapped the bed again, then peered up through his eye lashes. “Hurry, Alpha. I’m cold.”

Garrosh snorted and, for the first time since the two-Mathias still an unnoticed observer-had arrived, moved from where he’d been standing by the door. “You’re acting like we’re back in that damnable tundra.”

Anduin peered up through his lashes and made a show of shivering. Shaking his head, Garrosh reached out and prodded-gently-the Prince in the ribs. “Scoot over, Wrynn.”

The blonde immediately scooted over to make room for the massive Orc. Though the process of doing so was less than gracefully done, the Overlord ultimately managed it and Anduin immediately adhered himself to his side. The purr starting up again as he tucked his head beneath the Alpha’s chin. Mathias coiled down in tense preparation to intervene and drag his Prince away if matters went any further but they didn’t. Anduin seemed more than pleased to leave matters at basking in the other’s full attention and Garrosh, surprisingly, had abandoned the domineering presence he’d long been known for while handling the little blonde which he’d gone so far as to dare refer to as ‘his mate’.

Varian needed to be made aware of this immediately, and now that it was clear the Orc wouldn’t be taking advantage of the Omega while he wasn’t there to prevent it Mathias knew he had to leave. But he couldn’t go without taking something with him.

Tawny eyes fell on the cloak, hung on the wall across the room.

Quietly, keeping a close eye on the pair on the bed as he did so to ensure none of the, noticed anything amiss, he padded over the uneven floor. Reaching out and carefully sliding a hand into the cloak; the inner pocket hidden in its folds. Fingers meeting with the cold glass bottle of a scent wash. Mathias pulled it out, slipped it into his own pack at his belt and made his escape through the open window.

“You said that you wanted to speak to me about something?” Anduin piped up after a long moment’s contended silence.

The large hand which had been making a steady journey up and down the contours of his spine stopped at his lower back; a warm, heavy weight pressing comfortingly into the large muscles that it found there. “When Draenor fell apart, the Omega among my people were the first to die.” His voice was a low rumble in his chest; resonating up into Anduin’s body from the larger form below him. “Now, your world seems as if it teeters on the brink of a similar fate with this ‘shattering’. I’m afraid for you.”

Anduin propped his chin up on Garrosh’s chest, meeting the worried gaze of his Alpha’s lupine eyes. “You’re worried for me?”

“There’s nothing more important to a _real_ Alpha than their mate.” Garrosh said. “I want to make certain that you’re kept safe. I can’t do that while you’re in Stormwind.”

“You want to know a concrete date for when I’ll come to live with you in Orgrimmar?” Anduin would be lying if he didn’t admit to having dreaded this. Though it had been expected.

“No, Kil’azi.” The Overlord said. “I want you to come back with me to Orgrimmar tonight.”

Anduin’s heart dropped. It was a tempting offer in some respects. To simply cut away all of his responsibilities, both chosen and dropped into his lap, and the inconvenient matter of having to explain everything to his father without inciting war. To cease the false persona of Alpha he’d hidden behind all his life and finally, finally be himself. But he knew that taking the easy road would lead to far more problems in the long run.

“I can’t. Not tonight. There are things I didn’t bring with me. Explanations which need to be given. I need…” time? He’d told his mate as much before and though Garrosh had told him that he’d wait for him for as long as he had to Anduin knew that he couldn’t keep doing this forever. “A week.”

“You’ll be in Orgrimmar in a week?” half stern and half surprised; clearly Garrosh hadn’t expected agreement.

“A week,” Anduin repeated, nodding. His long blonde hair flopping into his face. He’d given himself a dead line now, and the ultimatum inherent the action left him feeling rather faint.

“Kil’azi.” A measure of concern had entered his voice. “Are you alright?”

Anduin nodded, pushing himself up until he was sitting on his haunches. “Just hungry, I guess.” He had nearly no appetite at all at the moment but his Alpha didn’t need to know that.

Garrosh sat up as well, then, and Anduin sidled aside to make more room for him. “I’ll have that useless Goblin at the front send something up to us.” He said. “Wait here.”

His heavy footsteps thudded away from the bed, the door of the room creaking as it closed. Anduin settled himself back onto the furs and pressed his face into the imprint where his mate had lain. Breathing in the feral, Alpha musk and allowing it to afford him a measure of comfort.

“I said stay here, not smother yourself in the mattress.” Anduin’s eyes popped open and he straightened up. Garrosh stood in the doorway, obscuring all view of the hall behind him. “The ‘inn keep’ will be up here in another minute. You might want to put that cloak back on unless you want to risk recognition by a gold sucker.”

The Prince nodded and retrieved his cloak. Pulling the hood over his head just in time to conceal his face from the sight of the innkeeper who trotted into the room, burdened by a heavy tray and pitcher. His beady, deep set eyes scanned the room and landed heavily on him; instantly feeling dirty, Anduin pulled the hood he wore down further.

“Hey there, darling.” Garrosh’s growl was nearly deafening. The Goblin, unruffled, turned his head to look at the Orc instead. “You’ve got fine taste, Overlord.”

“Put that on the table and get out.” He snapped. “Before I introduce you to my taste in _axes_!”

“Now, now, no need for threats.” The innkeeper put the tray on the table and, with one last look at Anduin and a comment of “if you need anything else, feel free to send her” he walked out.

Garrosh closed the door with more force than necessary and picked up the tray. Returning to the bed and setting it between them. Anduin sighed and dropped his hood again, leaning against his mate’s shoulder.

“Most Omega, in my experience, would consider that exchange a good one.” He said.

“That sort of treatment is disgusting and not tolerated in the Horde.” Garrosh nudged the tray towards him. “Eat.”

He wasn’t hungry but he’d told his Alpha otherwise and his mate had acted to take care of him. The Prince would sooner force himself to eat than make that effort wasted. Picking up a small plate, Anduin cut a portion of a fragrant filet of baked fish for himself and, for Garrosh’s benefit, shoved a forkful into his mouth.

Satisfied the Paladin was eating the Overlord selected food for himself. Watching Anduin work his way slowly through his portion of fish and then nibble on a bit of fruit as he ate.

“Garrosh,” he piped up after a long moment’s silence, “with how long our Factions have been at war I know that many in the Horde aren’t fond of Humans. Should I be worried over how I’ll be received in Orgrimmar?”

“You’re my mate and will be received accordingly.” Garrosh said. “Anyone doing otherwise will soon seem themselves set straight by Gorehowl.”

Anduin wasn’t certain if such a solution would solve anything, but doubted suggesting as much would make a difference.

“You’ll never want for anything again. I’ll make certain of that.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d said as much. Where in Human society Alphas showed off their wealth and influence by displaying their Omega as if they were trophies or jewels for Orcs, it seemed, Alphas did so by showing off how well they could take care of them. One was leagues more preferable.

Setting his finished dish aside, the little Omega pushed his way into his mate’s lap. Hands returning to their exploration of his powerful chest. Following the curling lines of the black tattoos which swirled across his skin. Curious blue eyes roving over the carvings and metal adornments on his tusks; across the features of his face. Aware of the watchful gaze of the Orc as he conducted his silent investigation. For a long moment Anduin weighed his next move, then started up a quiet warble. When Garrosh answered with a steady rumble the Prince plucked up his courage and leaned in.

He’d never been in a relationship himself before, but Anduin knew about kissing. About the tender, dry touches of sweet new couples in flower gardens. About the wet, open mouthed ravagings which tasted of ale and passion. To hear about it from his brothers in the Crusade, while hedged into Spartan tents by drifts of snow five feet deep, and read about it in the flowery novels which lined the royal library’s shelves was one thing. Experience was entirely another.

The Orc below him didn’t seem to register, right away, that the Human in his lap had kissed him but once the reality of matters clicked in his head the response was instant. The tentative touch which the Prince had initiated transforming into a solid press. Confident and dominant but not demanding more than the blonde was willing to give. The Overlord’s lips were hot and coarse like the sands of Durotar, the juts of his tusks scraping at the corners of his mouth. Large hands roved up over his clothed sides, across his chest and then, so abruptly that the motion elicited a soft squeak of surprise, Garrosh flipped him onto his back.

They broke apart, then, to allow Anduin to catch a breath and Garrosh to arrange himself above him without risk of crushing his smaller body. Chest pressing to chest as they breathed. Hearts beating together. The Overlord reclaimed his mouth. Entreated entry which the Prince thought nothing of parting his lips to grant. The Alpha wasted no time in thoroughly investigating and laying claim to the newly revealed territory. He tasted of leather and strange spices. A familiar ache had begun making itself known deep in his core. The scent of mulled wine beginning to tinge the air with his mounting arousal. The scent glands in the side of his throat beginning to swell and sting in receptive anticipation of a Claim.

Garrosh retreated abruptly, golden eyes almost black. A cloud of addled pheromones billowing off him. “We shouldn’t take this further.” He huffed, laboring. Chest heaving. “Not now. Not yet.”

“You’re right.” But that didn’t mean that Anduin was particularly pleased with the notion, no matter how sound the knowledge was. He’d never been so intimately exposed to anyone before, and the circumstances were so dangerously close to the fantasies which had carried him through his most recent heat that his mind ran away from him. Spooling outward into a desperate want to be claimed and bred and left to ripen with his Alpha’s seed.

But in spite of his Omega’s obsession with the notion, with him finally fulfilling what his nature deemed as his rightful place, Anduin knew that the Overlord was right and shook all thoughts of the matter free. Dazed and gasping, he blinked up at him and swallowed thickly. The dull throbbing within him lessening but not going away.

“That was…that was…” he shook himself again. “I don’t have words.”

“A taste. For both of us.” Garrosh said. “Elements, Kil’azi, the smell of you!”

The heat of his face intensified and he raised a hand to his neck. Cupping it over the oil which dewed over the thin skin there. “Sorry?”

The Overlord shook his head and withdrew. In the absence of the press of his hot body against his own the Prince suddenly felt cold. Anduin sat up. “I guess…I should be getting back. It shouldn’t be until the morrow that father returns but it would pay to be cautious, I think.”

Reluctantly, the Orc allowed him to rise. “I’ll walk you back to where you left your mount.” He said. “Just to make certain that Goblin doesn’t get any ideas.”

“Hold on,” Anduin reached into the inner pocket of his cloak, “just let me…” confusion passed across his face, “…that’s odd. I could have sworn…”

Those golden eyes fixed on him. “’Could have sworn’ what?”

“That I put the wash into my cloak pocket.” He said. “But I must have forgotten it in my rooms in the Keep.”

Garrosh’s eyes narrowed. “You’re certain you’ll be able to retrieve it before you run into anyone?”

“I’ll be going back in the way I came out; through my window.” He said. “I’ll be alright.” Anduin swung his legs out of the bed on which they were sitting and rose to his feet. Smoothing wrinkles out of the clothing that he wore beneath his cloak and pulling up his hood. “I’ll see you at week’s end, I suppose. One way or another.”

“One way or another.” The Orc echoed. “If he tries to stop you, you send that bird to me and I’ll come get you myself. No matter how many warriors I have to bring with me to do it.”

“If given no other choice I’ll call on your help.” He said. “But I’ll do all I can first so that no more of my people than need be risk being hurt.”

Garrosh responded with a rough grunt.

“Shall we?”

The Alpha gestured wordlessly at the door and Anduin, smiling, trotted past him into the hall outside. Thudding footsteps trailing behind him down the stairs. Ignoring the state of the inn keep and a handful of other patrons, he made his way out of the small town and over to where he’d left his griffon.

Biding his mate a last farewell, and swinging himself up onto the back of his mount, Anduin took off and soared to the north west. The trees of Elwynn Forest and then the multicolored rooftops of Stormwind soon stretched out below him.

Expertly navigating the bird down onto the stones of the court yard, the Crown Prince thanked it for its aid and stroked its feathers before turning and starting the not inconsiderable climb back up to his chambers.

Sliding up and over the railing and onto the balcony beyond, Anduin strode in through the folding glass doors and made his way over to his desk. Opening the top drawer and reaching inside only to find nothing there. His brows knit together in momentary confusion before a growl from the darkness behind him turned everything inside him to ice. “Looking for something, Anduin Llane?”


	9. Point Break

In that moment everything in his world ground to a full an inexorable halt. The air leaving his lungs as surely as if it had been stolen from him by falling into the arctic sea; the ice refreezing overhead to keep him trapped there, helpless, as he drowned. Swept away by a sudden tide of angry Alpha pheromones the Prince, gasping, ribs hurting, pressed himself flat against the deck below him in a defensive effort to make himself seem smaller. His inner Omega recoiling in terror, hackles on end. The sudden urge to run, to flee back to the Swamp of Sorrows where his Alpha could protect him from the threat posed by the man-shaped pillar of molten rage just visible through the dark despite knowing Garrosh had returned to Orgrimmar by now, seizing him in a strangle hold, yet he couldn’t move. His knees locking up. Heart thundering so loudly in his chest that it nearly drowned out the clang of plate boots as his father loomed closer, out of the dark like a monster from a child’s tale.

“You reek of Orc!” He spat; tone thick with disgust. The Wolf Spirit clear in his eyes. “And you’d have used a scent wash to conceal it from me! Yet again going around behind my back! Once more flaunting my confidence! And if Mathias hadn’t followed you to Bogpaddle I never would have known!”

Light damn his stupidity! He’d never stopped, for even a moment, to consider the possibility that he might be followed. That they might be seen together. And now it was out of his hands; Varian knew, his rage had taken over, and there was nothing he could say or do, now, that would make his father understand.

“Did you lay with him tonight? Have you lain with him before?” He snarled. Rage lacing every word with poison. “Are you carrying, even now, a beast’s spawn?”

“I haven’t lain with him.” His tone was meek, frightened, and though it seemed to appease his father somewhat it lit a fire of defiance in his chest. Thrusting his chin out and meeting his father’s eye, he added “yet.”

“But you intended to do so in the future?”

“I do. He’s my mate.”

“How dare you! After all that their kind has done to our family and to our people how could you ever-!”

“I didn’t have a choice in this!” His own temper breaking free of its bonds, raising his voice above his father’s, he bared his teeth in a snarl. “I’m dying, one way or another! The only thing I can take into my own hands is control of how quickly! If it isn’t the suppressants that do me in then it’ll be my Omega, who’d rather see us both dead than suffer another moment the way it has been! If not my Omega then, perhaps, it’ll be your word. So, I await my King’s sentence,” blue eyes flicking across the fire of the other man’s features, his courage nearly gave out. “Shall I kneel at the block on the morrow? Or to a rope?”

For a moment everything was dangerously still and then his father lashed out. One of the joints of the plate glove he wore opening a deep cut along his cheek, the blow knocking him off balance; Anduin tippling to his knees with a yelp as Varian whirled out the door. Slamming it behind him and rounding on the nearest guard.

“Seal this door.” He snapped. “No one in or out until I say otherwise.”

A nod and a salute where the only answers he received before he stormed away. Thoughts whirling. Lo’gosh snapping at their heels. Raging. Demanding that he track Hellscream down and run him through the way he should have at the tournament. But he forced his Alpha’s roaring voice away from his awareness as he burst into his office. Slamming the door again. Throwing himself into the chair behind the desk with such force that he nearly knocked it over onto the floor.

Before he took any other action, he needed to decide what was to be done with the wayward Prince. He couldn’t allow his anger to run away with him. Not now. Not when he could so easily make a snap decision he’d regret for the rest of his life and his son, the only family he still had, wouldn’t live to.

When Anduin had asked him, in Icecrown, what would be done to those who willingly associated in such a vulgar manner with an Orc he’d meant it. And he’d intended no exceptions, no matter how hard the choice. Yet now that he was faced with living up to it he couldn’t. Couldn’t bare to send Anduin to an axe man or the gallows. Couldn’t bear to lock him away in the stockades forever. Couldn’t simply banish him, knowing into who’s arms he’d run.

_He imprinted on Hellscream because of what happened in that damnable citadel. This isn’t his fault. He can’t help it._ Varian reached up a hand to scrub at his face, caught sight of the streak of blood along the hinge on his thumb and lowered it again. Guilt joining the fury which still spun madly within him. _He didn’t have a choice and he felt he couldn’t tell me. And I proved him right._ How many times would he lose control and hurt his son when he was only trying to protect him? How many more times before it finally stopped? _He thinks that his Omega will kill him but I won’t allow it. I won’t let him go with that bastard Orc but if it wants an Alpha than I’ll give it one. A Human one. I’ll appease it so that he can live._ But the King knew that the effort would be easier said than done. “Mathias.”

The Spymaster materialized before his desk the instant that his name was called, and for a fraction of a second before he pushed such thoughts away Varian wondered just how long the Rogue had been there. “You called for me, King Varian?”

“I know the laws. I know my stance on matters. But this is my _son_! My only son. I need you to help me make this go away.”

Tawny eyes regarded him with a clinical curiosity. “My trade is that of an assassin, your majesty. I’m well versed in making problems disappear.” He said. “Though something tells me that you’re hoping for a different sort of ‘going away’ this time.”

“Anduin imprinted on Hellscream as a result of the trauma which he endured in Icecrown and seems convinced that his Omega is holding his life for ransom. If he needs an Alpha, so be it. He’ll have one.”

“Though I’m honored by the suggestion, your Majesty, I’m afraid that I’m a Beta. Not to mention a bit old for the Prince.”

Despite himself, a bark of surprised laughter escaped. “I’m aware of your dynamic, Mathias, though I know you’d treat him as his deserves to be were you an Alpha.” He said. “I need you to compile a list of suitable Alphas who have a proper view of how a mate is to be handled. As quickly as you can so that he can select one. Or one can be selected for him.”

“He’ll resent them.” The Spymaster said.

The King sighed. “I know. But he’ll live. And he’ll be able to take my place, when my time comes, so long as this…scandal never gets out.” His blue-grey eyes leveled the Rogue across the desk from him in a heavy gaze. “You have your orders.”

“And I will carry them out, as I always have.” Mathias said. It should only take a fortnight.”

“My son will remain in his room until then.” Varian informed him. “His food and drink will be delivered by mages. He will receive no visitors. And he will reflect on what he’s done.” He said. “Light willing, we’ll come out of the other side of this…somehow.”

“The Queen, were she here, would tell you to have faith your Majesty.”

“Faith is something that I’m not a man of.” But he could call easily to mind someone who was. Seized, suddenly, by the urge to seek solace from the strange force both his late mate and son had drawn so much from, Varian heaved himself to his feet. “Perhaps it’s been too long since I’ve last spoken with Benedictus.” Even at this hour, the Arch Bishop would see his King. “You’re dismissed, Spymaster.”

As swiftly as he’d appeared Mathias stepped back into the shadows and melted out of sight. Collecting his cloak from where it hung on a peg to guard against the night time chill which had stolen over the city streets, suddenly feeling incredibly tired, Varian trudged out of the Keep and, silently trailed by a pair of guards, made his way to Cathedral Square.

Nightfall had left the square empty and quiet, the only sound to disturb the silence the gentle play of water in the fountain. Varian ascended the stairs and pushed open the doors of the cathedral.

Pausing in the receiving room, he turned to the nearest guard. “Alert the Arch Bishop that his King would see him.”

Another nod. Another bow. The armored man moved off, leaving the other to follow him into the hypostyle hall. In the absence of all but the moonlight which filtered through the stained-glass windows on the Cathedral’s east side and the small flame of the candle left ever burning atop the altar the room was enveloped in soft darkness. The heavy scents of standing water, incense, and christening oils hung in the air. The last time Varian had been inside of the cathedral had been when Tiffin’s funeral had taken place; those memories were a muddled haze of grief he didn’t want to relive.

Slowly, and quite out of practice, Varian maneuvered his massive plate-clad frame into a pew and lowered himself to his knees. Clasping his hands. Closing his eyes. He didn’t know what he was praying to-the Light for help, Tiffin for forgiveness for his failures regarding their son, for anyone to walk in and tell him that this was all some sort of strange nightmare-or even if he was praying at all but he kept stubbornly at it until the clang of his guard’s footsteps returned.

Benedictus looked as if he’d just been roused from sleep but none the less was dressed as usual in his Priestly robes. Concern in the features of his lined and ancient face. Briefly, the King wondered what sort of calamity the Arch Bishop assumed had brought him there.

“Varian,” he said, “what’s happened?”

“I’ve just found out that my son has imprinted on an…unsavory Alpha and that he’s been going behind my back with him for weeks because his Omega is holding his life for ransom. I don’t know what to do. He gritted his teeth. “I’ve come seeking guidance from the Light. I know that Anduin will respect its word even if he doesn’t respect mine.”

“The Light adores your son like none I’ve ever seen.” Benedictus said. “It would have you show him mercy, Varian.”

“I intend to.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t guidance that you sought, then, but rather confirmation that you’ve made the right decision.”

“Sparing the life of my only child would never be the wrong one.” Varian retorted sharply.

“At peace, my Lord. I had no intent to insinuate otherwise.” He said. “You’ve a plan?”

“Find him a suitable Alpha; Light willing, he’ll accept them.”

“Take comfort, your Majesty, in the assurance that I will petition the Light to sway our Prince onto the right path.” He said. “And that, with time, the suffering which he’s endured might come to mean something.”

“Thank you, Arch Bishop.” Varian’s voice sounded stiff even to his own ears as he hauled himself back to his feet. Knees creaking with the strain of his armor’s added weight. “But I think it’s time that I be getting back to the Keep.”

“Of course, King Wrynn.” He said. “Safe journey.” He watched the King retreat with his two guards and the doors swing shut behind them. Silence reigned in the Cathedral. And then, from out of the dark corner, a Twilight Shadow emerged.

“You called, Father?” A male voice, low but plainly Human. So, the zealot masses could listen to instruction? Good.

“You respond quickly.” The Rogue gave a sweeping bow but didn’t otherwise reply. “You’ll be able to get into the Keep? The Prince’s Chamber? Unnoticed?”

“Getting in and out unnoticed is what I do.” He said. “But I thought you’d settled on a less…generic method of severing Stormwind’s royal blood line than sending a blade against the Wrynns.”

“Varian’s Omegan brat has a greater use alive than dead, now that he’s imprinted on Garrosh Hellscream.”

“A Human Prince? Mated to an Orc?” The Twilight Shadow scoffed. “Utter madness?”

“As the Masters would have.” Benedictus snapped. “More importantly, were Anduin to make it into Hellscream’s arms Varian would stop at nothing to level the Horde and get him back. And the Masters can do their necessary work unimpeded by the infidels while the Children of the Titans tear each other apart.”

“What is it that you’d have me do, then?”

Benedictus pulled a package and a letter from beneath the folds of his robe. “Deliver this to our ‘dear Prince’. Make him aware that I, and my people, are here to help him get free of his father’s reach. Tell him to sneak from his balcony and make his way to the Cathedral in two days’ time, at dusk. Travel from outside Stormwind to Booty Bay, and over sea to Ratchet, will be made by then.”

“One of Dawnblade’s best blades and you’d have me serve as post man?” Surly. He accepted the letter and package, turning both curiously about in his hands. “Anything else I can get for you while I’m out running your menial errands, Father? Denture cream, perhaps?”

“I’ll warn you only once that I am not to be trifled with.” Benedictus growled. “Deliver these and make yourself scarce back to your post in SI:7.”

With a last grunt of distaste, the Rogue disappeared back into the deep shadow of the cavernous room, taking the package and letter with him. A handful of things yet remained to be done but soon, very soon, the Alliance and Horde would once again go to war with each other. King and Warchief would clash on the field of battle. The Overlord would be put out of the way in the bloody fighting, though not without taking numerous battalions with him, and with a bit of luck the Young Lion would be caught in the cross fire. And with their leaders gone, the Hour of Twilight could dawn unchallenged.

The Masters, he knew, would be pleased.


	10. Short Hair

Anduin had always known his father had an explosive temper. This wasn’t the first time that he’d hurt him in the midst of one of his rages but the Prince had never been left feeling so utterly shaken in the wake of it that he couldn’t unfreeze before. Couldn’t lift himself from the floor. Pressed to the floor, eyes wide and body shaking as his mind spun in disarray. He could feel the tears sliding down his face, the dull throbbing of the cut on his cheek opened where the hinge of his father’s plated glove had struck him, only distantly. Something clattered on the balcony outside his rooms. The windowed doors creaked. A shadow slithered through the space between them out of the night.

Dread gripping him, Anduin raised his head and sized up the intruder. Eyes focusing through the shadows to make out the keen blades at his said; the plaited leather uniform of the SI:7. One of Mathias’ men. He wondered if he was one of the one’s whom also made up the ranks of the Assassin’s Guild.

“A private death, rather than a public execution? I suppose, for that much, I should be thankful.” Though his joints felt as if they’d been formed from jelly he forced himself to rise. First to all fours. Then to his feet. He refused to die while lying there terrified, doing nothing. “Please. If you must do this make it quick. I think father would prefer I didn’t suffer.”

His assassin was a younger man, maybe a handful of years his senior. A Beta with dark hair and a strange aura: a darkness which Anduin couldn’t place and left every one of his hairs on end. He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not here to kill you.” He grunted. “Your father may roar about killing any ‘treasonous Orc fuckers’ whom dare to live within the boundaries of his kingdom but when push comes to shove and its his son? No teeth. The King wants this scandal kept quiet; made to go away by forcing a Human mate onto you and keeping you within the boundaries of Elwynn until the day you die.”

“You’ve come to mock me, then?” the Prince could hear the cross snap in his voice but didn’t care. Crossing his arms over his chest to hide his mounting discomfort, budding desperation bitter on his tongue.

“No.” The Rogue reached into the folds of his water-scaled cloak and removed a wrapped package. “I’m here to help you.”

“And who sent you?” curiosity beginning to get the better of him, he reached for the package. Light. The contents yielding beneath the press of his fingers. “Mathias?” Would the Spymaster help him? He was one of the few whom his father had entrusted with the truth of his nature. Knew the torment he was doomed to if he continued to hide. But Anduin doubted that the leader of Stormwind Intelligence would aid him in escaping into Garrosh’s arms. Especially not while being the one responsible for Varian ever discovering that they were mates to begin with.

The other man seemed to share his thoughts, judging by the derisive snort he gave in reply. “Roof Walker? He’s your father’s dog, through and through. The command of the Crown was enough to have him sending vicious bounty hunters after his own mate’s head. You think he’d defy Varian for you?” He sneered. “The Arch Bishop sent me.  Gave me a letter, too.” An envelope, summarily produced from the same place the package had been. “Follow these directions to the tee, Wrynn, and you’ll be safe with your Orc in Orgrimmar soon enough.”

Orgrimmar. He supposed that it was unavoidable. Stormwind ceased to be his home the moment that his father had learned of the truth. It was time for him to leave.

Potentially forever.

Still…” What authority does the Arch Bishop have over members of SI:7?”

The Beta looked at him shrewdly for a moment before he shrugged. “A Rogue can’t go to church?”

Not in his experience. And whatever this man had been getting into, the Paladin knew it wasn’t the Light. “Of course. I apologize.”  In all honesty he just wanted away from him. “Thank you for your aid. It’s truly appreciated.”

“Of course.” With a stilted bow, the man turned and sauntered back to the balcony doors. “Everything will be in place to smuggle you out of the city in two days’ time. Come to the cathedral then.”

Once more nothing but a shadow against the dark night outside he vanished over the railing. Anduin found himself alone. Wanting to focus his thoughts on anything other than the time ticking down on the moment when he’d be forced to leave Stormwind forever he turned his attention to the articles in his hands. Opening the envelope and unfolding the letter inside. Swiftly reading over the contents; instructions on when to come and a detailed description of the means through which he’d be smuggled, on horseback, to the border of Stranglethorn where a griffin would carry him south to Booty Bay. From there, he’d catch a boat to Kalimdor and hope Garrosh would come to his rescue before his father deduced where he’d gone.

Holding the corner of the letter over the candle on his desk until it caught a light, the Prince left it to be reduced to ashes and turned his attention to the package. Tearing into the oil paper with his fingers. Pulling it open to reveal the rough clothing of a peasant. Anduin knew that this, alone, wouldn’t be enough to hide his identity. His face and his long golden hair were too easily recognized.

One could be changed with much more ease than the other.

Pulling a pencil and parchment from his desk Anduin scribbled a swift note and shoved a handful of silver into a pouch. Tying both to the falcon’s leg before he lifted him from his perch. Stroking his feathers. Fionn chirred softly and looked up at him.

“I need you to run to the Auction House for me again.” He said, carrying the raptor over to the balcony. “We’ll be leaving here soon.”

Whether or not Fionn fully understood him he didn’t know but the bird tugged gently on his hair and lifted off into the cold air. His dark form quickly growing smaller against the moon.

 

The two days which the Prince had to wait were slow to pass, ever moment for him filled with tension that something might go wrong at any moment. That Shaw or his father would catch wind of what was happening before he could even make an attempt to leave. Fionn had returned within an hour of being sent out with a small bottle of red dye and, after rewarding his efforts with a few strips of dried meat, Anduin had sent him on ahead of him. His father had not returned, nor sent anyone to speak with him in his stead, and the only contact he’d had with the rest of the castle had been when a Mage sent him meals: three times a day, always at the same times. He forced himself to eat in spite of his lacking appetite, knowing that he’d need his strength for the coming flight.  Not wanting to draw suspicion. When the evening he was set to leave finally came, Anduin had been unable to describe the sensation as anything other than relief.

Setting the cup of water which he’d saved from that day’s meal on the desk the Prince set the little bottle of dye which he’d procured beside it and pulled the spur dagger he kept in his boot free. Gripping it between his fingers and taking a deep breath before he reached back and sheered his hair off. A rough cut just above the tie which bound it. Slipping the signet ring of Stormwind around it and laying the neat tail across the folded letter intended as his farewell to his father Anduin took the cup of water and bottle of dye and proceeded into his connected wash room. Stripping off his sash and tabard, followed by the shirt beneath, and then leaning over the wash basin as he upended the bottle over his head. Taking care to ensure the coloring was spread evenly across the whole of his remaining hair-Light, he hadn’t had it this short since he was a child! Growing it out had been a show of maturity. A sign that he was a man, now.  Perhaps there was more symbolism in the action that he’d intended: his death as the Prince of the Alliance and rebirth as a member of the Horde-before allowing the dye time to set in and stain. Once confident that it had done so, at least enough to allow him to pass as something other than brazen-blonde, Anduin leaned forward over the basin again and poured the cup of water over his head. A red puddle forming in the bottom.

Drying himself quickly with a towel and freeing himself of the remainder of his royal clothing, replacing them with the rough farmer’s dress he’d been passed, the Prince quickly collected a handful of things which were small enough to carry with him and of enough importance to justify doing so-foremost among them his mother’s locket-and allowed his eyes to rove, for the last time, across the familiar safety of his room. Pulling the hood of his cloak over his head, Anduin clambered over the railing and shimmied down the side of the Keep to the courtyard below. Alerted by the letter that the SI:7 aiding the Royal Guard in keeping him cooped up was, in fact, the same Rogue who’d delivered it to him the young Paladin felt no need to peer over his shoulder to ensure he wasn’t being followed as he made his way to the cathedral.

The waning light of early evening slanted through the stained-glass windows, forming puddle of red and amber on the flagstone floor. But for him and the waiting Arch Bishop, the only occupant of the cavernous room was the smell of standing water and incense smoke.

“Prince Anduin, you were able to make it here! Thank the Light!” His age-knotted hands reached for the Paladin as he approached, one clasping his shoulder and the other finding his forehead. “I pray that you make it to Kalimdor in one piece, my Prince, and that you’re not intercepted by our King’s men before you reach your mate.”

“Thank you, Benedictus.” Anduin could hear the breathy aspect of his own voice. Could feel the way his chest tightened as the reality of matters crashed down on him.  He was leaving everything he knew behind. Suddenly, panic was pressing hard against his ribs. Threatening to overwhelm him. “Truly.”

“Of course.” He said. “There is a long journey ahead of you but you must stay strong. My friends have procured all the necessary supplies for you; they’ve already been strapped to your horse. Come, their waiting in the catacombs.”

The catacombs? He wasn’t given a chance to question matters before Benedictus whisked him around the corner and down a flight of stairs. And then another. He’d never been this deep within the belly of the cathedral before and was met with surprise t the system of tunnels which were subsequently unveiled to him.

“This is him?” his attention was drawn to the source of the voice: a Blood Elf woman with sharp glowing eyes.

“No, Dawnblade, he’s the _other_ Orc-mated Omegan Prince of Stormwind we’ve been contracted to smuggle from the city beneath Varian’s nose.” The Beta Rogue who’d delivered the package to him drawled, unruffled by the poisonous glare the woman lobbed at him.

“Tread lightly, Jora,” she growled, “or you’ll find my knife somewhere you don’t want it.”

Something told him that these ‘friends’ of the Arch Bishop weren’t particularly friendly.

“Now is not the time for arguments.” There was an unfamiliar snap to Benedictus’ voice. “We’ve only a small window in which to act before Varian realizes that his son is gone. It’s better that the Prince be in Stranglethorn Cape, if not off the Eastern Kingdoms entirely, by that point. Cease to dawdle. You can argue later.”

The pair spared a last glare before the woman tore her eyes from her companion. “I apologize, High Father.”

The man, Jora, grunted but didn’t otherwise respond.

“Go with them, Prince Anduin.” Benedictus pushed him gently towards the pair and the dark mouth of the tunnel they stood in front of. The two Rogues, without word, turned and vanished down it. Anduin, hesitating, thanked his former mentor once more before he followed.

With how dark it was he couldn’t be certain, but the walls around him appeared to have been so roughly hewn that the Prince found himself wondering if they were original to the structure above or an unauthorized addition. The uneven floor slopped upwards. More than once he almost tripped. After a small eternity they emerged through a crack in a pile of boulders a few yards outside the city’s fortress walls. Tied to a tree, grazing the banks of a shallow pond, were three horses one of which-a white stallion-was laden with what looked like enough supplies to get him all the way across the Cape of Stranglethorn. After that, once he’d reached Ratchet, the coin in his purse would have to stretch until Garrosh could collect him.

Eager as he was to escape his discomforting escorts, Anduin cast one final glance over his shoulder at the city where he’d been born before prodding his mount forward towards the Darkened Bank.


	11. Where One Door Closes

Traveling through the blighted forests of Duskwood had been less than pleasant, between the marauding bands of undead still haunting the more isolated areas which they were forced to travel through to avoid contact with the patrolling members of the Night Watch and the giant spiders he kept seeing skitter out of the reach of the light of their torches through the corners of his eyes. They’d even managed to encounter a pack of Worgen, of all things, which had pursued them tenaciously through the later half of their journey to the area’s southern border.  Unnerving as it had been to attempt to rest in camp whilst hearing a number of the large bipedal beasts creeping about just beyond the glow of their fire, with the way the Rogue named Jora and the Sin’dorei woman he’d only heard referred to as ‘Dawnblade’ interacted with each other the former Prince couldn’t help but wonder if he might be better off taking his chances with the feral wolfmen.

Reaching Stranglethorn Vale had come as an edged sort of relief; though the climate became oppressively muggy and he soon found himself soaked through the tropical rain, and swarmed with biting insects this would be the leg of the trip he’d take alone.

The griffon they had waiting for him, kept watch over by a Dwarf which from his ashen coloring and fiery beard was likely a member of the dangerous Dark Iron Clan, was the common tawny variant rather than the snowy white royal stock he was used to riding or the Ebon feathered variety favored by Mathias and his men. It regarded him with marked disinterest as he approached with the necessary items among his remaining supplies and clambered up onto its back.

The humid air was thick with the scent of rain and the metallic stench of decaying plant matter and whipped passed him as the griffon spread its feathered wings and rose into the air. Pushing back the hood of his dark cloak and revealing the short crop of his tinted hair; the dye flaring crimson as it was struck by the direct light of the blazing sun. The layered jungle canopy fell away below him.

The tree tops passed by in an emerald sea, broken only by the silvered ribbons of rivers and streams and the clear cutting done by the venture company, for most of the ay. Soaring around the western flank of a towering mountain, the trees thinned somewhat as Vale transitioned into Cape. The dark sapphire waters of the Great Sea stretching far and away to either horizon. Ahead, barely visible in the distance, lay the wooden docks and shanty buildings of the Goblin run Freebooting town. His direst destination of the three which ultimately lead to-hopeful-safety in the Horde’s capital. Booty Bay.

There was a pressure building in his chest. One which felt remarkably similar to dread and, somehow simultaneously, freedom.

He _was_ free, now. Prince of Stormwind no more. He’d left his crown behind. His name behind. Knew that as soon he’d left his rooms within the Keep with the intent to never return that, in the eyes of his father and his people, he had died. Traitor. Wolf’s head. Nameless.

Free.

He’d always carry his regrets, his wishes for what could have been, but the time for looking back was over. It was onward and upward, now, towards the far horizon and Kalimdor beyond.  Towards his mate. Worries aside, Anduin knew, now, as he stood poised upon the cusp of no return, that he was ready.

Smiling, squinting into the sun, the former Prince watched as the portside town grew closer and closer until, finally, the tint of brine was heavy in the air and the salt-whitened boards were passing by below him.

The griffon landed atop the flight deck with a thud and the click of talons and folded its wings. Trotting immediately to a waiting trough of water. Stroking its feathers and thanking it quietly, receiving no acknowledgement in response, Anduin swiftly collected his belongings and pulled his hood back over his face. Approaching the nearest Goblin peace keeper who eyed him with a marked suspicion which the Omega had no doubt had far more to do with his dress than his race.

“I don’t mean to bother you, sir,” he tried to make his way of speaking coarse so as to be less likely to define him as noble taught, but knew as soon as he had spoken that he’d shot in the dark and failed. The former Prince suppressed a wince. “Which of these docks is where the ship to Ratchet drops anchor?”

“The farthest one from here.” The Goblin informed him, still giving him the gimlet eye. “You headed to Kalimdor, Stormwindian? Can’t imagine what one of you lot would want out of the Barrens: neutral though the Steamwheedle Cartel may be, those are Horde lands.”

“I’ve business with a…friend. Not that such matters are of concern to any one outside he and I.”

“Have it your way, then.” The Goblin grunted and let him slip passed down the Flight Deck’s steps.

Heat rose up from the rickety planks which clattered beneath his feet, painted with strange shadows cast by the cobbled together buildings and upper decks of the portside city. The sounds of rolling waves, shrieking gulls and cackling macaws, both from the trees lining the near-distant shoreline and through the door of one of the ramshackle establishments he passed as he made his way towards the indicated dock. No ship was present, though thick sail cloth flapped in the salted winds down the neighboring dock; Anduin hoped that the ship would soon be arriving, and hadn’t just left, as the round trip journey would last the better part of a week and he knew that the longer he spent on the Eastern Kingdoms the greater the chances became that he’d be found.

Briefly, and not for the first time since he’d been locked in his bedroom in the Keep, Anduin lamented his father’s thoroughness in taking the hearthstone, set to Theramore, which Jaina had gifted him years ago.

The dock master, another Goblin, tilted his head back to look up at him and blinked against the glaring sun. “What can I do for you, kid?”

_I am 18. Not a child._ The Paladin forced his indignance not to show on his face; what little was visible below the cowl of his hood. “I’m looking to secure passage to Ratchet, on Kalimdor. I’ve been told that this dock is where the appropriate boat drops anchor. Do you have any information on when it will next be in to harbor?”

The Goblin rummaged around in one of his pockets for a moment before he produced a massive pocket watch-tarnished and dented but clearly made of gold-and flipped it open. “You picked a lucky time to get here, kid,” again with the damned ‘kid’; yeah, sure, he was short, he was an Omega for the Light’s sake, that didn’t make him a child! “Provided she’s on time, the boat you’re looking for should be in at sundown, just over two hours from now. I’d suggest getting a drink at the tavern while you wait.”

“Thanks.” Anduin turned to walk back down the dock, towards town, “I think I’ll do that.”

He could recall seeing a tavern about halfway down the lower boardwalk but barely managed to set foot back onto it before a familiar weight landed on his shoulder, making him jump.

“Light, Fionn!” He hissed as the falcon comfortably folded his wings. Gripping his shoulders with his talons. “You frightened me!”

The falcon clicked his beak and commenced the process of grooming his feathers. Anduin sighed, shook his head, and ducked into the tavern.

The sour smell of old alcohol, salt water and unwashed sailor curled his nose, slamming into him like a solid wall. Eyes watering, he never the less pushed forward through the dim light and took up a position directly opposite a Troll, plainly three sheets to the wind, warbling a shanty in out of tune Zandali. His words were so slurred that it was impossible for him to begin to make them out.

A woman with dark skin approached him, a dagger openly carried at her knotted leather belt. Her sharp eyes taking in the sight of him and the glaring falcon on his shoulder.

“Nice parrot.” Rye and slightly harsh. Anduin snorted. “Drink?”

“What do you have?”

“Rum.”

“Anything else?”

“Bilge water.” She grunted. “This is a pirate town. Its rum or nothing.”

Sighing, Anduin pulled out a handful of coin and slid it across the table. “Rum, then.” He said. “Single.”

She took his coin and walked away, returning a few minutes later with a beaten container of dark rum. He could smell the spiced alcohol before he’d even kicked it up and held his breath to drink. Forcing the burning liquid down, feeling it sear its way down his throat and into his belly. Two sips in his vision had begun tipping slightly out of focus. He set it aside to wait: couldn’t afford risking getting drunk and missing the boat.

Not wanting to look suspicious for sitting there and doing nothing, Anduin rummaged through his pack of remaining supplies for his dried meat rations and began the slow process of nibbling on one end. Occasionally lifting the mug of rum and pretending to drink while keeping a close eye on the ticking clock which hung on the wall. Fionn churred. Snickering, the former Prince broke off a piece of the jerky he was eating and handed it over.

After accepting the morsel, the Falcon nibbled at his fingers in thanks. The young Paladin stroked the raptor’s feathers a few times, looked at the clock again, then rose from the table. Leaving a few silvers on the table top as a tip, less in thanks for impeccable service and more out of a desire not to find the waitresses’ knife in his spine half way to the door, he left the tavern and made his way slowly back towards the proper dock.

Off in the distance and growing rapidly larger was a galley vessel, and from the angle of its approach Anduin felt safe in assuming that this was, in fact, his ticket off the continent.

The last time he’d stood on the sturdy wooden planks of a dock, awaiting a ship with the same combination of anticipation and fear, it had been an icebreaker and not a merchant vessel and Bolvar had been standing at his side.

It was the last time he ever saw the Paladin who’d helped to raise him; the war with the Scourge had seen them both to different stations and the Wrath Gate disaster had taken place before they’d been able to reunite.

Perhaps sensing the turn of his thoughts, the raptor chirred again and lightly pressed his beak into his cheek. Anduin took a deep breath to steady himself, filling his chest with the salty ocean air-slightly more rancid smelling than the harbors of Stormwind had ever been-and watched the vessel glide silently into port before dropping anchor.

“Well, here’s your ride to Ratchet kid.” The dockmaster said as the boarding plank fell with a hollow clatter and a harsh call for all aboard. “Safe journeys. The open seas can be a bit rough this time of year.”

“Thank you.” Taking a final stock of his things and making sure his hood was still in place Anduin boarded the ship.

He was immediately confronted by the sight of a Tauren which towered nearly four feet above him, dark fur braided and encrusted with salt. Nostrils flaring with a powerful snort, he thrust his three fingered hand forward and only allowed the Paladin to board once four gleaming gold pieces rested in his palm.

“Oi, Snakehold, get your rotting carcass over here and show this passenger to his cabin for the trip!” His huge hooves thudded away across the deck as he left Anduin standing there, bewildered. He was only alone for a moment before a wizened Forsaken appeared beside him.

“A Human, headed to Kalimdor?” the rictus skin of his face pulled taut over his cheekbones, stretching as he spoke in a manner only describable as ghoulish. Anduin suppressed a shudder.

“I’m meeting with a friend.” He was aware, and only slightly embarrassed, by the fact that he sounded rather defensive.

The Forsaken man’s milky eyes stared through him. “Ratchet is a neutral town, though I can’t help but question the wisdom of allowing Alliance beasts so close to Orgrimmar uncollared. Grimhorn’s policy is not to ask questions, and given that you don’t look like an agent of the Lion King I’m not going to go against that.” Turning away in much the same way that the Tauren-the mentioned Grimhorn, Anduin suspected-revealing the hunch of his bare spine where it poked through his rotting skin, he headed towards the steps which lead into the belly of the ship.

Casting one last glance behind him at Booty Bay, in the vague direction of Stormwind, and with a last pang of regret shooting through him, Anduin followed him down the rickety stairs.

 

Resisting the urge to go to his son had been difficult, but Varian had managed it, somehow. What Anduin had done was wrong. His son was stubborn, a trait which he’d inherited from both of his parents, and going to him before the necessary time had passed would simply rob what was meant to be a punishment and reprimand of its teeth. Varian had already made that mistake once; allowed his earthshaking relief at having his son safely back from the Lich King’s icy clutches to brush aside what consequences should have come down on the Prince and, as such, Anduin had learned nothing.

Varian knew that matters needed to be mended-though the blood had since been washed off the hinge of his gloves the King was aware, and guilty, that he’d lost enough of his temper to actually strike him-and his son needed to know that he could trust him, that what he had formed between him and that damned Orc wasn’t his fault, though his inexcusable actions certainly were, but that couldn’t be done until Mathias came through with his latest assignment so that he could present Anduin with the new reality of matters.

Varian could still vividly remember when he’d first had to explain to his son, then only ten and having just presented not as an Alpha or Beta like he’d hoped but an Omega, that the rest of his life would be a lie. The same fear had been present then, though back then it had been terror over the fact that his son’s dynamic might be discovered. That one of those slavers in the brothels which never seemed to go away no matter how often SI:7 raided them might somehow manage to drag him away and Varian would never find him again. But this time it was terror that word of what had happened would reach one of the snakes making up the House of Nobles because he knew that, then, he’d have no choice but hold up the letter of the law that he himself had laid out. He’d been far too vocal regarding the fact that heads would roll should it ever be discovered one of his citizens was cavorting with the enemy to make an exception for his son.

They’d demand the Prince be sent to the axe man’s block or moves would be made to see him deposed. And there’d be nothing, then, that he could do that protect him.

Short of having him smuggled to Orgrimmar.

Varian would sooner swallow Shalamayne.

A knock on the door of his study pulled him from his thoughts. The King raised his eyes from the half completed paper work he’d been staring down for the better part an hour. “Come in.”

The door opened to reveal Spymaster Shaw. The lithe Rogue carried a stack of documents close to his chest, shielded from the view of unwelcome eyes while not making the effort to do so obvious. “King Wrynn.” He closed the door firmly behind him. “I’ve completed my latest mission. The documents you requested are with me.”

“Mathias.” Varian let out a huff of breath, trying and failing to release some of the tension which he’d built up, and dropped his hand onto the desk top. “It’s only been two days. You work fast.”

“I do my best to preempt my dead lines when so much is at stake, your Majesty.” Mathias said. “Vanyst is already snooping around.”

Bolten always had been one of Varian’s least favorite nobles. The scheming bastard had been prone to siding with ‘Katrana Prestor’, as Onyxia had called herself, and Varian had reason to suspect that the Vanyst family were in some way connected to the ever-returning brothels but even Mathias’ best men had yet to manifest concrete proof.

The King made a noise similar to a growl as the auburn Beta extended the pile of documents towards him.

Taking them, Varian quickly began thumbing through the pile. Scanning the detailed notes with his harsh heather eyes and separating those he most approved of into a second pile for Anduin’s perusal. Stopping and raising an eyebrow at one in particular. “Halford?”

“Wyrmbane and I disagree in regards to how we reach the end goal of service to Stormwind and the Alliance as a whole but that Paladin is a man of integrity and honor above all else.” Mathias said. “I know he’d treat the Prince as he deserves to be. And would be appropriately patient, and appropriately stern, with his tendency to…wander.”

“He’s a bit older than what I’d prefer.” But he added it to the pile regardless, after a moment’s thought. “You’ve done good work, Mathias. Thank you.”

“Of course, my Lord.” The Rogue said. “Is there anything else I can see to regarding the matter?”

“No. You’re dismissed. Should something else arise I’ll send for you.” Rising from behind the desk and taking the selected papers with him, Varian started for the door. “It’s time I spoke with my son regarding matters moving forward.”

Knowing Mathias would return to his duties as he’d been instructed to the High King thought nothing of leaving the office without first ensuring the other man had shown himself out. The Spymaster wouldn’t have needed to snoop through his Regent’s things to know what Varian was privy to regardless, seeing as the man was responsible for collecting most of it. The whole of his focus and attention was centered, now, on the argument ahead of him.

Anduin was incredibly tenacious, staunchly principled and could be even more hard headed than he was at times but it was paramount that Varian somehow made him understand that going along with this was necessary. He was disappointed with him, yes, and angry with his actions; it would take some time before he’d be comfortable with truly trusting him again, but he loved his son. No matter what, he always would. And he’d do whatever he had to in order to protect him.

‘Talking things out in a reasonable manner’ was far from the King’s strongest suit, especially when it had anything to do with Orcs, most specifically Garrosh Hellscream, but Varian knew that making an attempt to do so was paramount in this. It was important that Anduin felt as if his side of matters was being considered, that his words were being heard, not only because he knew his uphill battle would only become steeper if the Prince had reason to think otherwise but because he knew how hard all of this was for his son he’d do his best to manage.  Every day since he’d presented, he’d suffered in silence. Every time he’d taken another dose of the suppressants, he’d looked more and more tired. More and more pained.

Really, Varian thought as he at last reached the door of the Prince’s rooms, he should have done this from the outset. Found him a worthy Alpha whom could have assisted in protecting him. Allowed him to live life as what he was. To be happy. To be proud, like a Wrynn should be. But the paralyzing terror that he’d lose him had driven him to make the wrong choice.

Maybe if he hadn’t, they wouldn’t be dealing with matters now. Like this.

Steadying himself with a deep breath and taking a last stock of matters to ensure his temper was in check the King reached out and knocked softly on the door.

“Anduin,” he called, “we need to speak.”

No response. Not unexpected. The Prince, unlike him, preferred to make his displeasure known with cold shoulders and silent treatments rather than lashing out with violence, the way he tended to.

“I’m coming in.” Varian waited the space of a breath and, when no protest arose either, pushed open the door and stepped inside. The room was dark and quiet. The candle on the desk had gone out. The curtains were drawn tight around the bed; it was too early in the night for the Paladin to have managed to find sleep so the King suspected that his son was simply curled up among the sheets, sulking.

Though a sizeable part of him wanted to throw those curtains back and force his son to face him he needed Anduin’s trust now more than ever. Aggression where it wasn’t warranted would only spur the Omega into being needlessly contrary. Working against a traumatic imprint was already challenge enough.

“You’ll need to answer for what you’ve done in going against my word,” he said, staring hard at the curtains around the bed; dark blue and opaque. He thought that he could make out vague shadows behind them. “But the way that you feel is not your fault. And I regret that I ever made you think you couldn’t come to me about it for help.”

The silence persisted. Varian frowned. The urge was growing stronger, his palms beginning to itch, but he resisted.

“I cannot allow you to take a beast as your mate. But I won’t force you to continue to deny your nature if you truly believe that doing so has put your life in danger.”

Why wasn’t he answering? Surely this was right about the time where his son should have been unable to keep quiet; where he broke his silence to protest that his ‘mate’-even thinking the term regarding Garrosh made one of the small muscles in his face start to twitch-wasn’t a ‘beast’.

“I know that some of my actions recently may make it seem otherwise but I love you. I want to see you safe. But I also want you to be happy. If you want an Alpha than you’ll have one. I had Mathias assemble a list of proper potential mates for you. Mates whom would treat you as you deserve to be.” Another pause of silence. “I expect that you’ll select one. Or I’ll select one for you.”

Still, nothing. Varian could contain the sensation that something was terribly wrong no longer and tore the curtains back.

The bed was empty.

The papers he was holding hit the floor at his feet with a limp thwack but Varian couldn’t hear them over the blood which had begun to rush in his ears. Panic swooping in on him like a great black bird as his eyes ricocheted around the room. Anduin wasn’t there. There weren’t any signs of struggle immediately evident. The doors to the balcony were open but no one was outside. It was possible that his son had escaped on his own, managing through some twist of fortune to evade the shadow Shaw had set on him, and was now making an attempt at escaping to Kalimdor and his supposed mate. But it was also possible that…no! He couldn’t think of that! Wouldn’t! It was better he assumed Anduin had gone running to the Horde than that, at least until proven otherwise.

It would be easier to find and recover him from the Orcs.

Heart thudding in his chest Varian scanned the room again. Forcing himself, through his mounting panic to pay mind to details that he hadn’t before. Gaze landing, at last, on the desk. On the folded parchment, and shorn hair, which had been left there.

He didn’t need to read it to know that it was confirmation that Anduin was headed for Orgrimmar.

How long ago he’d left, however…Light, his fool of a son could well be off the Eastern Kingdoms by now!

“Mathias!”

How, exactly, the Rogue managed to respond so swiftly no matter how far out of reasonable earshot he was at the time Varian didn’t know and, at the moment, didn’t care. With a quiet pop, the auburn Beta materialized from the shadows beside him.

“King Wrynn?” tawny eyes darted around the room before landing on the desk as well. “He’s run.”

Never let it be said that the man wasn’t damn good at his job. Thank the Light that Varian wouldn’t have to waste time explaining matters to him. “Who did you have posted on watch?”

“On the last rotation? Jora.” A brief pause. The man’s eyebrows knit together. “Come to think of it, he missed his last report. Have you read the letter yet?”

“I’m more concerned with finding my son!”

“There may be valuable clues hidden in it, as well as what he’s left behind.” Mathias said. “I’ll track down Jora and find out why, exactly, he didn’t intervene. It shouldn’t take me long, your Majesty.”

“Very well.” He growled, stalking over towards the desk. The Spymaster had vanished, back into the shadows, by the time he reached it.

Clearly written on the same high-quality parchment which stocked the top drawer of the Prince’s desk, it had been carefully folded and set in the very center of the desk. A neat tail of golden hair, instantly recognizable as belonging to Anduin and still bound in the blue ribbon he’d always used to tie it back, rested atop it. Varian removed the letter, mindful not to jostle the tail enough to risk it coming undone, and unfolded it. Scanning the shaky handwriting. Forcing himself not to think too much of the tear stains where a portion of the ink had smeared. Half an apology for leaving and half a confession, it detailed a truth that Varian hadn’t even considered-that the imprinting had not only occurred well before Anduin had been taken to the citadel but had been two sided which, in retrospect, explained far too much-reiterated his feelings of being unable to live the way he had been anymore and apologized for the choice that he had made; for disappointing him.

Varian crumpled the letter in his massive hands, but quickly forced his fingers to relax before his grip risked tearing it. The anger over Garrosh and the fact that his son had been duping him shamelessly for the sake of cavorting with an enemy and the terror of knowing that Anduin was out there alone somewhere, vulnerable to monsters and the elements and an unscrupulous individuals who might seek to take advantage of him in one form of another dwarfed by cutting regret over the knowledge that, in trying so hard to protect him, he’d driven him away.

Sensing another presence join him in the room Varian started and looked up, hackles raised. Lo’gosh growled, the low threatening rumble only cutting out when he recognized Mathias. The Rogue’s expression was unreadable.

“You found him, Mathias?”

The Spymaster nodded. “He’d been wandering the back streets for a while before I caught up with him, seemingly with no recollection of who he was.” He said. “He showed signs of having been mind controlled.”

“Anduin isn’t a Priest anymore. He hasn’t been in years.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s lost what he learned.” Mathias said. “And the Arch Bishop was…concerned for a time over the affinity he seemed to have towards Shadow Magic.”

Dredging up the concern that his son might have been more adversely affected by exposure to the Black Dragon bitch was the last thing he needed right now. “He left of his own accord.” Varian’s voice was tense. “He’s headed to Orgrimmar. For all we know, by now, he’s halfway across the Great Sea!”

“The first stop over on the way to Orgrimmar from the Eastern Kingdoms is Ratchet.” Mathias said. “I’ll collect the best among my men and will personally lead them in intercepting-.”

“ _No!_ ” Varian barked. The Rogue didn’t jump but the wide-eyed look Mathias sent him he could tell that he’d taken him by surprise with his outburst. “We go to Booty Bay first. It’s possible he’s left only recently and that we’ll be able to catch up to him there.”

“But if he’s already off the Eastern Kingdoms we won’t be able to reach him before he makes it to Orgrimmar.”

“It’s better it appears that he was captured for ransom by the Horde if he has already left the Eastern Kingdoms.” He growled. “SI:7 presence in force in Ratchet will get back to the Horde. An inter-faction complaint will be raised and I won’t be able to keep it from the House of Nobles. And if those vultures find out…”

“I understand.”

“Garrosh Hellscream is a brute, a beast, but he’s saved Anduin’s life on two occasions now. I’d rather have him in the presence of his supposed ‘mate’ than the alternative.”

“If it’s any consolation, my Lord, from what I saw of the way thy acted together the Orc is gentle with him.”

Judging by the way the King cringed, it wasn’t.

“Meet me in the aerie, Mathias.” Varian turned and stalked from the room. “We head to Booty Bay.”


	12. Back To You

The majority of his time on the ship had been spent below the rolling deck, away from the glaring sun and glaring crew; while their Captain’s policy barred them, effectively, from attempting in some way to harm him it didn’t bode well for the reception which might be awaiting him among the majority of the Horde, what Garrosh had said beside. All in all, it didn’t bode well, and though he was still for short of ever saying he regretted his decision his enthusiasm had been dampened. He’d encountered members of the Horde before, of course, but-perhaps foolishly-he hadn’t considered that those whom willingly signed on to participation in a neutral body might possess decidedly different attitudes than the vast majority of the Faction.

               He’d taken all his meals alone and had only gone up onto the main deck to give Fionn the chance to stretch his wings. Now, with his destination nearing, the former Prince had gathered what meager belongings with him, exchanged his mother’s locket for the hand made necklace which his Alpha had crafted for him and fastened the heavy collar around his neck. The elaborate construct of metal bead and bone a solid weight against his chest and shoulders, though he kept it hidden beneath the dark fabric of his cloak so as not to draw unwarranted attention. With that much finished and nothing left to do, Anduin called Fionn to his shoulder and, once the falcon had settled there, made his way up onto the deck.

               The area was already a hive of activity, sailors running back and forth under the watchful eyes of Captain Grimhorn, who shouted the occasional order from the wheel house above. Taking care to stay out over the water. Slivers of silver moonlight flashed against the crests of the waves like the scales of gilded fish. The Goblin town of Ratchet hunched on the flank of the arid Barrens, penned in on one side by a sea of water and the other by a sea of grass. Despite the fairly late hour, a handful of candles still burned in some of the windows.

               Fionn spread his wings and lifted off from the Paladin’s shoulder with a shrill cry, looking off into the darkness towards where the city lay, leaving him alone at the railing. Watching the town growing closer and closer. The anchor chain rattled as it was heaved over the side. The gangplank clattering against the dock below.

               “End of da line, man-thing!” A Troll grunted behind him. “Off da boat!”

               Pulling his hood up over his head once again for good measure, Anduin did as he was told. Slinking down the gangplank and onto the dock. Blue eyes scanning his surroundings as he made his way up the dusty road towards the inn.

               His father could well have discovered his absence by now. SI:7 could be crawling all over the town, just waiting in the shadows for him to step off the boat. Though the urge to bolt for the perceived shelter of a shut away room Anduin held himself back. Being Human so close to Orgimmar had probably already given him away if the Spymaster’s men were there but running would only end his escape effort quicker.

               By the time he stepped through the door of the inn his heart was thudding out of his chest. A Hobgoblin was asleep in the far corner, thick trunk like legs stuck out in front of it and chin dropped to the chain around its neck. The Goblin behind the desk looked half asleep but his ears perked up when Anduin rattled the contents of his coin purse.

               “A room for the night.” He stacked three coins on the desk and then rolled a fourth between his nimble fingers. Watching the Goblin watch the gleam of the metal. “And an extra cut for telling anyone who comes looking that I’m not here. Unless they’re an Orc.”

               “The inn’s empty, as far as anyone else is concerned.” The Goblin eagerly snatched the extra coin. “Not a single customer.”

               “Glad we understand each other.” Accepting the key that he was given, Anduin headed up the narrow stairs. Found his way to the corner room. Pushed open the door and closed it behind him again. Allowed his head to drop to the dry, flaking wood behind him with a shuddering sigh of relief. SI:7, it seemed, wasn’t there yet. But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t arrive soon. He could only hope and pray that Garrosh would get there first.

               That Fionn would come through for him.

               Turning his attention to the room behind him, Anduin allowed his blue eyes to slide over the furnishings. Rustic wood. Dark fur. Far more reminiscent of the Horde Faction tent on the tournament grounds than anything which Anduin was familiar with. It smelled of dust and the stale sea air and smoky soot from the fires often burned in the lopsided stone hearth, now cold.

               His Omega shifted and a pitiful whine escaped him. A high call for his Alpha which received no response. Shivering, he crawled into the pallet and curled into a tiny ball beneath the heavy furs. The former Prince had never felt so alone.

               He closed his eyes and forced himself into a restless sleep. Waking with a start to the sound of shouting voices and thudding footsteps. Door slamming against the walls behind them with dull bangs, drawing steadily closer. What was happening? Were these his father’s men? The shouting wasn’t close enough for him to discern what language was being spoken but the banging was drawing rapidly closer. Down the corridor. Across the hall. Next door.

               The door to his room flew open, unveiling the dark hall outside. The hulking shape of an Orc loomed into view. Green skinned. Clad in heavy armor. Not Garrosh. Coiling down into a defensive crouch, arching his back, he barred his teeth and hissed. The boiled iron stench of distress tinting the air. He was unarmed and much weaker than the intruder-a Beta not an Alpha but that meant nothing when it was a sub 200lb Human against a nearly 400lb Orc-but he still had his magic and prepared himself to reach for it if need be.

               The sudden and unwelcome visitor didn’t approach him, holding up his hands in a placating gesture before backing away into the hall. Calling out a rough approximation of “over here” in a dialect of Orcish Anduin couldn’t find a solid grasp on. Swift, heavy footsteps thudded towards them, the figure they belonged to ducking beneath the doorframe a moment later. Garrosh’s golden eyes found him where he’d coiled on the pallet.

               “Kil’azi,” he sounded relieved, “there you are.”

               Anduin’s hissing cut off into a soft chirp and he uncoiled. Eyes flicking away to the Beta still lingering just within sight in the hall.

               “The Warsong are well aware of the fact that you’re my mate. None of them will lift a finger against you.”

               Still wary, the Paladin reached up and pushed back his hood. Attempting to force a smile onto his face when he noticed the look of confused concern his Alpha gave him, but knowing it fell short. “I was careless. Didn’t think. Mathias followed me, and told father what he saw. He was going to force me to take another mate. So I ran.” Garrosh’s gaze was hard on his face, on his cheek, and though Anduin knew full well what he was looking at he didn’t comment on it. The low growl which had started up in his chest, spiking at the insinuation that Anduin might have been stolen from him, was comment enough. “I had to get creative with a quick disguise. I probably look a little…different.”

               “Hair can grow back.” He reached out with one massive hand and gently took his chin. Cradling his face. Lupine eyes taking in the signs of exhaustion and stress clear in his expression before coming to rest, once more, on the evidence of his father’s latest lapse in temper. “We’ll get you cleaned up once we’re safely back in Orgrimmar.”

               “Father’s men could be here at any moment.” Anduin said softly, leaning into the other’s touch for a moment before he swung his legs out of the pallet. “We should leave.”

               Anduin barely made it two unsteady steps before he was seized from behind and lifted off his feet. Letting out a surprised squeak before nestling comfortably in the other’s arms. Pulling the hood over his head to shield himself from the staring eyes of the other Orcs Garrosh had brought with him. Propping his cheek against the cool metal of the Overlord’s breastplate and closing his eyes. Zosha’s rolling gait pulling him down into the dark waters of sleep.

               Even in sleep the little Human looked drained, features tightly drawn and bruise like shadows under his eyes. He’d clearly never renewed his disguise after they’d parted ways, as the false pheromones had begun to wane over his natural scent. Though they were trying-and mostly failing-to be discreet about their attempts to look the Overlord was well aware that his Warsong were curious, to say the least, about the Omega clutched to his breastplate. Reflexively, Garrosh pulled him closer. Anduin shifted in his sleep but didn’t wake.

               He’d come too close to losing him as it was to not be appropriately defensive, Human or not, this was _his_ mate. The one which the spirits and the elements had chosen for him. The Omega who’d chosen him as worthy.  Thinking how easily he could have lost the little former Prince had he not been so stubborn and resourceful was more than enough to raise him hackles, prompting him to snarl when one of their Worgs drew too close.

               He didn’t know if any of them recognized who he was, certainly not with his hair cut short and dyed a comical shade of scarlet with what looked like writing ink, but to him, ultimately, that reality didn’t matter. His protective instincts had been inflamed.

               The hunch of the covered wooden bridge which arched above the Razor River, marking the border between the Barrens and the parched red sands of Durotar. The pounded dirt road was pale as bone beneath the faint light of the slivered moon, gilding the thin cloud of dust which rose behind them. The dearest wind rattled the surrounding sands and carried the murmuring voices of his Warsong forward to his ears but Garrosh couldn’t make out what was being said. Anduin was warm against him but shivered in the cold air of the desert night. The Overlord bundled him closer, wrapping the smaller male in the cloak he wore still drapped over his shoulders.

               Razor Hill was quiet when they passed through it, the only signs of life present at so late an hour were the guards still creeping through the quiet alleys on the off occasion. None attempted to stop the caravan of war worgs, though a few no doubt recalled the haste with which they’d originally barreled through the settlement. It hadn’t quite been change of guard.

               Beyond Razor Hill lay Bladefist Bay, the dark focus of the iron bodied warships of the Horde bobbing on the calm water, and passed it rose the mighty walls of Orgrimmar. The great city curling itself amid the rocky cliffs bordering Azshara like a sleeping predator. The crackling braziers of flame lighting the way for the patrolling guards rippling in the wind.

               The paws of their mounts met the metal paving of the gate’s entrance with heavy pings. The thousands of tons of stone and metal blocking out the stars for a brief moment before the night sky opened above them again. Dismissing his Warsong with orders to say nothing of the matter, Garrosh prodded Zosha over towards the bathhouse and dismounted. Carrying the sleeping former Prince inside.

               Pausing at the inner door to listen for any signs of life from inside but being met with silence, he pushed it open and stepped inside. Scanning the area. Empty. The basin of the massive bath drained since its last use.

               Gently lowering Anduin down onto a bench he nudged his mate awake. Watching his blue eyes, cloudy with interrupted sleep, flutter open. Burbling in confusion, the little Omega raised his head and looked around. “Garrosh?” he blinked a few times in quick succession. “Where are we?”

               “The bathhouse in Orgrimmar.” He struggled, and failed, to prevent a smile from forming on his face. “There’s no point in letting that dye say in your hair.”

               “But I look good as a red head.”

               “At the moment, your ‘head’ puts the Horde to shame.” He snorted.

               The red dyed blonde grumbled something unintelligible and then looked around again. Chirping. “Did I fall asleep.”

               “Yes.” He said. “And it doesn’t seem to me that you’ve quite woken up again.”

               Another unintelligible grumble before the little Omega groped at his clothing before, succeeding in finding a firm enough grip on them to begin to pull them off. First his cloak, then his shirt and pants and finally his small clothes. Too exhausted, it seemed, to muster his usual embarrassment he sided up to the edge of the pool and peered down into it before glancing back, expression crumpled into a look of confusion.

               “There’s no water.”

               “Did you think we left the tub filled while it wasn’t in use Kil’azi?” Garrosh couldn’t properly mask his amusement and was treated to a scrunched-up glare by his Omega, lending the former Prince the look of a disgruntled house cat. “I need to turn it on.”

               Anduin huffed and plopped himself down on the rim of the basin. The Overlord of the Warsong offensive made his way around to the lever which would pull heated water up from the furnaces, keeping his eyes discreetly on the Human all the while. The heavy lever creaked as it was pulled back. The pipes gurgled and spat before a stream of water spewed out, beginning to rapidly fill the basin and filling the room with herbal smelling steam.

               Humans had odd myths; tales of Nymphs unrivaled in beauty which would tempt men into water only to drown them and of fish tailed creatures which, to him, seemed disturbingly reminiscent of an overly romanticized depiction of a Naga. But looking at his mate now he could see where those tales had come from.

               Wreathed in adoring clouds of silver steam with his feet dangling in the water. Long and lithe, how he ever could have passed for an Alpha Garrosh doubted he’d ever understand. His pale skin was unblemished, stained red around his brow by the dye that he’d used. The fullness of his face. The softness of his curves marking him both as a Delta, as the Humans called their Omegan males, and as a true strange to the notion of going hungry at fault of his royal breeding. His hips, though not as wide as a female’s, were wider than any Alpha or Beta male’s and was the most prominent physical giveaway of his true dynamic.  
               Anduin seemed to be watching him watch him, but was either too tired to properly register the fact or had become comfortable enough with him to not be bothered by being in a state of full undress in the view of his Alpha. Though there was no way for Garrosh to know which it was for certain he preferred to think it was the latter.

               Turning back to shut off the water he heard a quiet splash. By the time he looked again the Paladin was submerged in the bath up to his neck.

               “Come here, Kil’azi.” Collecting a small pot of shampoo which had been left behind by one of the day’s patrons-not ideal but it would work-Garrosh approached the rim of the basin. “I don’t want you falling asleep and drowning in there.”

               The blonde looked like he wanted to protest that he wasn’t that tired, only to decide he was too tired to do so. Without protest, he waded through the high chest deep-waist deep on an Orc-water to the rim where he knelt.

               Running his fingers through his mate’s hair-rough shorn until it barely reached below his ears-a few times before scooping up water in his palm and pouring it onto his head. The former Prince squeaked in protest, snorting when the water dribbled down into his face. Garrosh rolled his eyes and picked up the little pot of shampoo. Pouring the remaining contents onto the barely conscious Paladin’s head. The Omega beginning to purr quietly as he was lavished with attention. The suds tinted a vibrant pink as the soap pulled out the red color which stained the golden strands.

               Shifting his hold to the back of the former Prince’s neck, he rumbled a quiet “lean back”. It took Anduin a moment before he processed the command and complied. Allowing the older male to chase off the pink drifts of suds, leaving Anduin’s hair a vaguely tinged gold, darkened brassy with moisture.

               He’d fallen asleep again, Garrosh noted as he lifted the Paladin out of the water. Depositing him gently on a nearby bench and going to trigger the drain, collecting a towel on the way back. Anduin’s face was turned away from him as he lay on his back, the rise and fall of his chest gentle with his breathing. Lightly, careful not to wake him, Garrosh reached out with the towel. Drying the short crop of his hair; collecting the droplets of water which had fathered along the faint concave of his stomach; tracing over the silk of his thigh. Following the pass of the fabric with his hand. Hearing his mate let out a quiet sigh as he shifted.

               Treating the rough clothing which the Paladin had come in wearing to a poisonous glare Garrosh left it where it had been discarded, instead wrapping the little Human in the towel and then his own cloak to ward off the desert chill and exiting the bath house. Zosha had remained where he’d left her standing just outside the door and carried them swiftly to the small home he had just down the road from Grom’mash Hold. Carrying him over to the pallet below the window and setting him down on it. Watching him twist about atop the furs until he’d properly settled, promptly beginning to snore.

               It took longer than Garrosh would ever admit for him to tear his eyes away from the sight. Unable to fully believe that he was really seeing his mate there, safely curled up in his bed. The former Prince had been stalling and a part of the Overlord hadn’t believed he’d ever come. But he was here, now. Finally. Nothing else mattered.

               Tossing another log onto the crackling fire, he started the process of stripping off his armor.


	13. The King's Search

_It’d be almost midnight, in Kalimdor._ The thought plagues him like a starving vulture as their griffons, one white and one dusky, raced above the humid jungle’s tightly knitted canopy. _It’s barely noon, here._

               The Prince’s flight had been discovered the prior evening and the King and Spymaster had flown without break southward since, headed for Booty Bay to search for signs of Anduin having been there. To his right Mathias sat straight and alert, showing no signs of exhaustion despite the sleepless night of travel past. Varian, for his part, had begun to feel his years but the stress of the notion that his only son could be anywhere on Azeroth, even the bottom of the Great Sea, allowing no room for even the notion of rest. He’d taken his scent wash when he’d locked him in the Keep, preventing him from renewing his disguise. Goblins were moral less creatures who only values money. What if he’d been recognized as what he was and sold to a slave? What if he’d been captured by pirates? Forcibly bound to an unscrupulous Alpha from the Light only knew where? Varian never thought he’d ever feel such a way, but he sincerely hoped that Anduin had made it to the Horde. And that he’d be as safe there as he seemed to believe. At least Orcs had some notion of the concept of Honor. At least Hellscream hadn’t taken any of the prior chances that he’d had to harm his son.

               Varian sincerely hoped that that much wasn’t going to chance now.

               Boot Bay was visible on the horizon now. Rushing up beneath them. At first an only vaguely discernable collection of cobbled together decks and buildings, built mostly from flotsam and assorted bits of scuttled ships. The pale blue waters of the shallow bay lapped at the barnacle encrusted pylons holding up the docks. The red and black stripped sails of what Varian strongly suspected was a pirate ship rippled in the wind.

               “Booty Bay is a rough town, your Majesty.” Mathias’ words were only just audible over the rush of the wind in his ears. “Coming here without the Royal Guard may have been a mistake.”

               “I trust your skill at my back, Shaw.” Varian didn’t look at the Spymaster when he spoke. His grey-blue eyes scouring the sun-bleached planks below for any signs of Anduin. Hoping, perhaps against reason, that his son might just so happen to be openly walking along the water side at just that moment. “Between the two of us, I doubt any flea-bitten sea mongrels that make an effort at causing trouble will come out on top of matters. And if they do possess the guile to do so, well, maybe they deserve to.”

               Goblins. Gnolls. A one tusked Troll. No Humans. No Anduin. The swooping sensation which stole across him, then, had nothing to do with his mount’s heavy landing on the raised flight deck. Mathias’ dusky griffon landing beside the King’s a moment later.

               The Flight Master leapt almost a foot in the air at the sight of them. After a moment’s hesitation, where he seemed to contemplate whether or not he should run, the Goblin approached as Varian dismounted from the saddle.

               “Well, I gotta say that this isn’t exactly a common vacation destination for the Royal sort.” He flashed his pointed, yellow teeth. “What brings the High King of the Alliance himself to our out of the way neck of the woods?”

He couldn’t answer that question, knowing what he did about Goblins; bought for a handful of coin, nearly down to a man.  Not if Anduin wasn’t present in the free booting town; if he’d already made it off the continent. Not if he wanted the House of Nobles to swallow the notion that their Prince had been kidnapped by the Horde. Mathias came to his rescue, however. Deadly calm as ever, the Spy Master made a show of examining his nails, though he kept a threatening watch on the Goblin out of the corner of own tawny eye. “Considering that, should we answer that question, I’d be forced to kill you would ask it again?”

The Flight Master turned a lighter shade of green, ears swiveling back, and retreated. Shaking his head. “Forget I asked.” He grunted. “Look, no one’s gonna stop you from flat footing around here but this is a free booting port. Horde? Alliance? We’re out of the jurisdiction if them both. Anything that happens here is to be taken up with the Steamwheedle Cartel.”

“We’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” Mathias said curtly, then trailed Varian off the Flight Deck and onto the narrow staircase beyond. “Sire, a moment.” The agitated Alpha stomped to a reluctant response. Wild ponytail swinging behind him as he turned his head. A silent demand on his face. “In order to be in any way effective as a guard should someone seek to do you harm, here, I’ll need to shadow you in stealth. Unfortunately, your perceived solitude may paint you falsely as an easy target. Cowards who might otherwise have left you be may see an opportunity and make an effort at things they’d better not.”

“Your concern is noted, Mathias.” Varian started walking again. His heavy plated boots thudding against the last few wooden stairs. “We’ll be on our way back to Stormwind quickly, regardless of whether we manage to catch up to Anduin or not.”

“I understand, King Wrynn.” Mathias vanished into midair the instant that he’d finished speaking and, for all intents and purposes, Varian found himself alone.

Taking a last deep breath of the foul-tinged salty air the King emerged from the stairwell of the Flight Deck and onto the docks. The burning rays of the sun beat down atop his black hair and broad shoulders. The Goblin Peace Keepers waddling about their rounds spared him only brief glances as they passed, if they afforded him any attention at all. The pirates clogging the decks like birds on branches watching him move among them with hostile eyes. Varian made a point of keeping one hand wrapped around Shalamayne’s hilt, where the great sword hung at his belt. He couldn’t see Mathias but could feel the Rogue’s presence at his back.

“You there!” His sudden bark nearly sent the Goblin it had been directed at toppling into the waves. “Which of these docks is where the ship to Ratchet drops anchor?”

               “Why?” the Goblin rasped, recovering from his surprise with a huff. “What’s it to you which docks leads where?”

               “Just answer my question!” He snarled.

               The Goblin looked him up and down, then seemed to come to the conclusion that it wasn’t worth quibbling over matters with a very angry lion. He was pointed in the proper direction and left the Goblin where he stood, still glowering, without another word.

               No boat was at the end of the dock furthest from the Flight Deck. How long had it been since it had last been there? Had it reached its destination or was it still at sea? The Dock Master, another Goblin-Light, the green skinned rats were worse than Orcs; all of them looked the same-squinted up at him, then pulled out a beaten watch and squinted at its face. “Should be about this time tomorrow that the boat will be back in, if you were looking for passage to Ratchet.” He said. “Though I’d have thought that a King would have his own boats to use to get there.”

               “I’m not looking for travel for myself. I’d be interested to know if anyone’s taken this particular bot during the last few days.”

               The Goblin shrugged. “Technically I’m not supposed to do that but I suppose it’s not any skin off my back.” He said. “Admittedly this dock isn’t the most well used, but I have had a few people in mind. Mostly Horde races, which I doubt you’d be particularly interested in. But then there was the kid.”

               Varian stiffened, narrowing his eyes. “Kid?” Anduin was an adult, at 18, not a child. But he was an Omega; the dynamic generally tended to be smaller, more delicate, than Alpha and Beta and could easily be mistaken for children. “Describe this ‘kid’.”

               “If you’re looking for hair skin and eyes I’m afraid I can’t help you; that cloak he had on covered him up pretty well.” The Dock Master said. “But he did sound like he came from your circles; you know, the high brow sort. He tried to make himself and otherwise but didn’t quite hit the mark.”

               “Was the boat here when he arrived?”

               “Not at the time, no. He got here about two hours before the boat come in to port.” He said. “He spent that time in the tavern, enjoying a drink. Ailsa may have seen more of him.”

               “Ailsa?” Varian prodded.

               “The bar keep.” The Goblin told him. “You can’t miss her.”

               Grunting, the High King turned and started back towards the main dock. Mathias not more than a few steps behind. Blue heather eyes scanned the main dock, landing on what passed in the pirate town for a tavern, and started towards it. Throwing aside the dried wooden door without ceremony and stepping inside.

               Musty, dark and silent the only occupant was a raunchily dressed dark skinned woman whom appeared to be Arathian and whom Varian suspected was the ‘Ailsa’ the Dock Master had mentioned. Caught midway through cleaning a wooden flagon, she set the cloth and cup aside. Cocking her hip and raising an eyebrow.

               “This place is hardly a sought-after establishment for men with gold in their veins.” Her voice was surly and low and had a strange raspy quality which hinted at a great deal of time spent yelling. “But I suppose that coin is coin. What can I get for you, ‘your Highness’?”

               “Information.” Varian growled, watching the way the woman stiffened and then shrank back. Eyeing him, now, with the cautious air of a wary cat. “I’m looking for someone whom I know passed through here. The Dock Master says that someone fitting their description spent a few hours here before their ship came in to port. I expect you’ll be able to provide a better description of them than they were.”

               Ailsa folded her arms in front of her busty chest, lips pulling down into a frown. “Rats get thrown overboard.” She said. “I’d rather deal with you than with the sharks.”

               Mathias’ sudden appearance at her back, blade at her neck, made the bar keep leap a foot in the air. “I can assure you that you’d rather deal with the sharks than me.” The assassin’s voice was threatening and deadly calm. “You’ll speak of your own accord or I’ll give you a personal demonstration of SI:7’s most effective methods of interrogation.”

               “You’re talking about the kid, then?” Varian nodded. Mathias didn’t move or remove his blade but he let up, just slightly, on the pressure he was applying. “Came in with a cloak and some supplies. Looked like he’d traveled a good way. Also looked like he’d dyed his hair with writing ink. Big blue eyes. And had a bird with him, but not the normal sort. A raptor. A hawk or falcon.”

               Fionn. “A white falcon?”

               “Yeah. White with speckled feathers. Can I go now?”

               Anduin _had_ been there. Had sat at one of the tables in this ratty table. Drank from one of the fraying wooden mugs. Had boarded the boat to Ratchet and, by now, had likely reached Kalimdor.

               Had he remained safe for long enough for his supposed ‘mate’ to reach him? Varian had no way of knowing.

               Mathias was watching him with calculating eyes. Waiting. Varian nodded and the Rogue released his hold. Dispatching back in to the dimness of the room with the same suddenness that he’d appeared.

               “Thank you for your cooperation.” Varian grunted, turning without another word and exiting the tavern back into the blinding sun. Pausing beneath an out of the way awning and waiting there for Mathias to again reveal himself. “We’re not being overheard?”

               “Not at the moment,” the Spymaster said, “but I’m not certain how long things will remain that way.”

               “We’ll be swift, then.” Varian said. “We’ve missed our chance to intercept my son. He’s made it to Hellscream. We’ll need to deal with the Horde to get him back, but the House of Nobles cannot be allowed to know the truth of the situation. When we return to Stormwind I’ll need you to produce a-.” Varian pulled up short when he noticed the letter the Rogue had drawn from the pack at his belt. “You already have.”

               “With all due respect, King Wrynn, I wouldn’t have gotten to where I am without being able to predict what might be asked of me.” He said. “I’ve taken ever necessary measure to make this article appear genuine: according to what the House of Nobles shall be left aware of, the Prince was kidnapped by agents of the Shattered Hand whom infiltrated Stormwind through the sewers and exited via the canals, to a waiting rowboat which saw them to a ship hidden just beyond the bend in the horizon. Anduin is being held for ransom. This will give you freedom to demand an audience with Thrall, in Orgrimmar, beyond their reach.”

               “Marvelous work, Mathias. As always.” The King said. “I do have one more job for you, however.”

               “My Lord?”

               “Inform Halford that his King would speak with him.” Varian said. “He’ll need to know what he’ll be dealing with in a mate once we’ve gotten my son back to Stormwind. That is, provided that he’s willing to take on the task of being Anduin’s Alpha.”

               “I’m sure he wouldn’t deny your request. It would be a further extrapolation on a soldier’s duty to his King.”

               “In a perfect world, it wouldn’t have to be a ‘duty’ to be paired with my son.” For a brief moment, before Varian forcibly discarded the notion with a low growl, he wondered if it might have been better to simply let Anduin go if it meant that he’d be happy. No! Varian was more than a father; he was a King. And Anduin, like him, was more than just his son but the Crown Prince. His only Heir. That came foremost. And the thought that he might end up with an Orc? That his children would have Orcish blood?

               He wouldn’t allow it.

               “Unfortunately, this world isn’t perfect.” Mathias’ voice was soft, but carried all the weight of Stormwind’s stone. “We both know that.”

               Varian turned away and started back towards the Flight Deck.


	14. First Morning

Pale sunlight spilled through the dusted glass of the room’s two large windows, casting a warm puddle across the pallet’s dark furs. Anduin hadn’t moved much during the night, though he now lay curled on his side facing towards him. Face partially tucked beneath one of the pelts. Small hands curled around the edge of another. His rough-cut hair, once long, now fell raggedly just below his ears, still tinted a vague shade of copper by the dye used to color it. His pale skin, threaded with scars-a scattering of thin lines along his ribs, a silver rope curling over the wing of his hip-looked like ivory in the blinding glare. The sounds of the city outside were muted through the thick walls of wood and stone, melding with the gentle rhythm of his breathing.

               Still not fully convinced he wasn’t dreaming, Garrosh watched the even rise and fall of the curve of his back. He trusted Anduin. Knew that the little Human had felt the same pull that he had. That he wanted desperately to be free. But he hadn’t been convinced, fully, that the former presence wouldn’t continue putting his supposed duty to his people above his own needs and desires. That he wouldn’t be left waiting forever. A part of him was still convinced that this wasn’t all some delusion; that he wouldn’t wake up at any moment to find the other side of the pallet cold and empty.

               The fire in the stone hearth had died down to embers, now. The falcon had found a makeshift perch for itself, resting atop the rack on the wall meant for Gorehowl with its head tucked beneath one wing.

               It was clear from the angle of the light invading the room that it was still early, but even so he knew he couldn’t remain in bed. Thrall needed to be made aware of what had changed, preferably before Varian was able to realize what had happened and incite something. And it was likely best that he collected food to give to Anduin once he’d woken up.

               Huffing, the Orc slid out from beneath the thick furs and collected his armor. Strapping it all on as quietly as possible before removing his axe from the rack, and receiving an amber eyed glare from having disturbed the bird, he exited the building onto the hard, earthen streets.

               Even at just past sunrise, the Durotar heat had already begun to mount. The streets were packed with the inhabitants of the mighty city, flitting in and out of various shops and establishments that had been opened while the sky was still dark. He paid them no mind beyond what was necessary to shoulder them out of his way as he made his way to the Hold.

               As soon as he laid eyes on Thrall, he knew the Warchief was already aware of at least a portion of matters. His blue eyes were stern, but he didn’t immediately reprimand him.

               “It’s come to my attention that Prince Wrynn is sleeping in your home, at current.” He said. “I’m already aware of the nature of your relationship, but I’d appreciate an explanation of how he got here and when so that I’m aware of how long I have before Varian is inevitably howling at our gates.”

               “He came in last night. Escaped from Stormwind and left the Eastern Kingdoms by ships.” He said. “His father had been holding him captive in the Keep after he discovered our relationship. Was going to force a Human mate on him.”

               For a brief moment, disbelief flashed across his face. Then, he sighed. “I’d hoped that this might have a better outcome, but I suppose such hopes were unrealistic. I’ll need to speak with him, Garrosh.”

               “He was still asleep when I left.” The Overlord said. “I’ll take him to see you later. Once he’s woken up.”

               “Is he well?”

               “Physically. For the most part.” There’d only been one wound on him when he’d made it across the sea, and who was responsible for it wasn’t a difficult equation to solve. “Wrynn hit him. And from what he’s told me it’s not the first time his father has been violent.”

               “Varian cares too deeply for his son to ever intentionally hurt him.”

               “It doesn’t have to be intentional.” Garrosh growled. “Certainly not when its an Alpha against an Omega, schooled to act otherwise or not.”

               “I suppose you have a point.” The Beta sighed. “What about his mental wellbeing?”

               What about it indeed. Garrosh couldn’t answer that question with any truth not when he himself didn’t know. “I haven’t had the chance to take a measure of that. He seemed stressed by his flight when I got to him but he fell asleep on the way back to the city.” And had only woken up briefly while they were in the bath. “I haven’t had a proper chance to take measure of that much.”

               “Spirits willing, he’ll be alright.” Thrall said. “Knowing how Humans treat what he is, how he’s been raised as what he isn’t, I can’t imagine what life must have been like for him up until now.”

               “What it’s been like doesn’t matter anymore.” There was ferocity in Garrosh’s voice. Golden eyes sharp, as if daring him to object or disagree. “Life will be better for him now. He’s never going back there.”

               “I wish that I could assure you with certainty that that was true.” Thrall said. “But I know Varian to well to think, even for a moment, that he’d sit by and allow this. He bares a great hatred for our people. One which, given what befell Stormwind at our hands in the past, isn’t entirely undeserved. There’s no telling what he might do in an effort to get Anduin back.”

               “Varian Wrynn,” the Mag’har growled, “can eat my axe.”

               Thrall sighed, seeming exasperated, but changed the subject none the less. “Does he even know how to be what he is?”

               The question was one Garrosh did know the answer to. “No. He doesn’t. And his relationship with his inner self is…tenuous.”

               “You’ve plans to find him a mentor?” the younger Orc nodded. “Good. With how long he’s been on those suppressants it may be best to get him seen to be a healer as well. There’s no telling what sort of damage those poisons may have done him.

               Healers. He hated Healers. …Well, most Healers. Garrosh scowled. “I’ll suggest he see someone, but whether or not he agrees to do so is entirely up to him.” Though he couldn’t deny that he was curious himself. And concerned. It was possible that his mate had gotten lucky and the suppressants had done nothing that his body hadn’t been able to repair itself. It was equally possible that they’d done so much damage that the little blonde had only days to live.”

               Even the vague thought of the possibility that he might lose him, and so quickly after finally getting him to leave his people, was enough to set his Alpha snarling. His sudden agitation wasn’t lost on the older Orc.

               “I’m sure he’ll be waking up soon, so I’ll let you on your way.” He said. “Just make sure he comes to see me some time today. I need to know the full story, from both sides, before I can offer him sanctuary in the Horde.”

               Nodding gruffly, Garrosh turned and exited the Hold. Heading the short distance back to his home. Stopping on the way at a small stall and receiving strange looks from the dark-haired Elf behind the counter over what he’d ordered-demanded-before continuing on his way.

               Anduin was still asleep when he made it back into the main bedroom but had since rolled onto his front in the middle of the pallet with the dark furs so tightly wrapped around him it was a wonder he’d managed to get himself into such a situation at all.

               Gently, Garrosh rested a hand on the little Human’s back. Just feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breathing for a handful of moments before applying a light pressure to either side of his spine. Sliding up between his shoulder blades. The little Omega roused, at first only barely stirring and then opening his eyes. Blinking up at him from his place snugly wrapped in the pallet’s furs, he let out a soft questioning chirp.

               “What time is it?”

               “Early.” He sat down on the edge of the pallet. Watching Anduin as he pawed at his blue eyes, untangled his legs from the furs and sat up. “I know that you’re tired but you should eat before it gets cold. And it’s best you begin adjusting to how we do things in this city if you’re going to be living here.” He passed him the bowl.

               Anduin peered down into the bowl of honey sweetened oats and smiled. “You remembered!”

               “Why the tone of surprise?” Garrosh grumbled, though without heat. Watching the little blonde shove a spoonful of the oat mush, riddled through with pine nuts and dried fruit, into his mouth.  “Only light foods in the morning or it makes you ill.”

               Clearly savoring the sweet mush-where Garrosh couldn’t understand it himself it pleased him to know that he could provide effectively for his mate-the little Omega scooted closer and pressed himself into his side. Quickly starting up a soft purr. Garrosh drapped an arm over his shoulders.

               “Tell me how Orgrimmar works.” He slid another spoonful into his mouth and swallowed. “Why is it that everyone wakes up early here?”

               “They wake up even earlier than this, Kil’azi. Before the sun, or with it.” He said. “Durotar is a desert. Even with the city having been built around an oasis we can’t escape from the heat. We conduct our business in the mornings and the evenings. All those who don’t have to work outside like the peons spend the hottest part of the day inside. Usually asleep.”

               “Peons?” Anduin repeated, honing in on the derision in his voice.

               “Lesser Orcs.” Garrosh spat. “Fit only to serve, and barely even that. Their only purpose is to work.”

               The little Human’s lips thinned. Forming a narrow white line across his face. “You really should be nicer to the help.” He said.

               “Oh?” Golden eyes observed him, narrowed. “And why is that?”

               “Because they have access to everything and good reason to be everywhere. No one would ask questions were they to see them in the kitchens. Nor would they expect them to be responsible for, say, poisoning your food.” He scrapped the wooden spoon delicately along the sides of the bowl. “That’s how a few of the Kings in my line have died, actually.”

               “Now you’re starting to sound like Thrall.” Anduin smirked into the now empty bowl. “Speaking of the Warchief, he wants to speak with you.”

               The former Prince paused, then set the wooden bowl aside. Suddenly aware of his continued nudity, it seemed, the little blonde made a point of shuffling about and covering himself with one of the furs. “W-Well, hopefully there are some clothes available so that I can speak to him.” He said. “Because I don’t think either one of us wants the Warchief to see me starkers.”

               The mere thought of such a thing, Beta or not, was enough to make a low growl rumble in his chest. “No. We don’t.” Rising from the furs Garrosh made his way over to a trunk and opened it. Returning with a set of folded clothes which he presented to Anduin”

               The little Paladin took the offered clothing and examined them; fine fabrics in rich tones of red and charcoal, they looked to be about his size, though clearly eyeballed, if not of Orcish make.

               “There’s a Knife Ears tailor in the Drag.” Garrosh helpfully supplied. “I had them done in proper colors.”

               “Horde colors.” Anduin said with a smile.

               “The colors you belong in.”

               The former Prince was quiet for a moment, fingers continuing to stroke the soft fabric, then he said “well, I’ll get dressed then. Just give me a moment and I’ll be ready to go and see him.”

               Apparently ‘just give me a moment’ didn’t include, this time, his offering even the illusion of privacy-apparently having decided that Garrosh had seen him naked enough times now that embarrassment was no longer warranted the little Omega slid from the pallet and proceeded to get himself dressed right there in front of him without a care in the world. Giving him a clear view of the whole of him; his narrow back and plush thighs. The way his muscles rippled beneath milk pale skin, white as the moon against the desert sky at night. The clothing wasn’t as fitted as what he’d worn before, slightly too large in places where it shouldn’t be, but that could be fixed easily enough and Garrosh fully intended that it would be. Grey pants which clung to the length of his legs and the swell of his hips but hung too long over his ankles, having to be shoved into the mouth of black riding boots he’d been supplied. Supple leather gloves and a silken blouse of deep crimson, hiding swirling charcoal lines in its depths until struck by direct sunlight. He was, perhaps, too fair for such heavy colors but his skin would darken with time. Baked gold by the unrelenting sun.

               “Well,” Anduin’s voice cut through the faint echolalia of the city outside, amused, “how do I look?” His eyes were the powdered blue of a clear sky. How long he’d been watching him watch him without saying a word?

               “Like a proper Warsong.” He reached out and pulled him into a gentle grip. Unable to resist touching now that the freedom to do so was there. Anduin didn’t seem bothered by the matter and happily leaned into him. The beads around his neck clattered. “One day soon enough, those marks won’t be confined to fabric.”

               “You’d really take me to your clan?”

               “I’ve told you before, “his voice was stern as he glared down at the worry in those eyes, “Humans or not, I am not ashamed of you. Someday soon, once time and war allows, I’ll take you to Nagrand.”

               The smile had returned. Garrosh couldn’t help but notice the bruise like shadows beneath his eyes. Carefully, mindful of how fragile the delicate bones in his face were, he traced the pad of his thumb over the soft skin. Anduin leaned into his touch, reaching up to grip his hand lightly with his own small fingers. “I’d like that.” They stood like that for the space of a few breaths and then, though it was plain from looking at him that he’d rather remain there, Anduin pulled away. “We shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

               “No,” Garrosh said, though he was clearly reluctant as well, “we shouldn’t.” Reaching up to the rack on the wall behind him, unseating Fionn yet again and prompting the falcon to hiss at him and find a new perch on Anduin’s shoulder, he lifted down Gorehowl. “We’re not going far, but stick close.”

               Stick close. Yet more confirmation that things perhaps weren’t so simple as ‘you’re my mate and they’ll accept you’. The hatred and mistrust of all Horde races, but especially Orcs, ran deep in Stormwind. Anduin could only imagine the same would be true for Humans here. Sighing, the former Prince followed him out.

               Zosha had been left tied to a post the night prior, or what had been left of it by the time they’d made it back, rather than returned to whatever form of stables served for Worgs. The massive wolf leveled him in a measuring stare and Anduin stopped. Suddenly intimidated. He’d been around the Worg before, sure, but he’d never been close enough to her to be within range of aggression, or at least immediate range, and he wasn’t certain he fancied the thought of attempting to ride something with quite so many teeth. Yet that appeared to be exactly what Garrosh had in mind for them to do, as he’d freed her from the rope.

               Suddenly seeming to notice he’d hung back, the Orc turned his head to look. “She won’t hurt you, Kil’azi.” He held out a hand which, after a moment and somewhat reluctantly, Anduin took. Allowing himself to be drawn forward. “Let her smell you.”

               The Worg was scrutinizing him even more closely now, her eyes a burning red which struck him as uncomfortable. He felt as if he were burning up, and not entirely at fault of the desert heat. Her massive head came closer, lowering over him, and her muzzle bumped his chest. Snuffling at the fabric for what felt like a small eternity before letting out a dismissive snort and appearing to lose interest.

               Anduin let out a huff of his own, his held breath escaping him abruptly. His sides ached. “I take it that means she doesn’t care if I ride her?”

               “That means that she knows you’re with me.” Pulling himself up onto the great wolf’s back with a surprising grace, considering his size, Garrosh reached down to help him. Swinging Anduin effortlessly up behind him.

               Wrapping his arms around the Orc’s middle as best he could, Anduin rested his forehead against his back. Breathing in the scent of spice and sand and leather. Unable to muster up the normal curiosity he might have had for new places under the weight of his worries-what if he was sent back to Stormwind? What was his father planning? Surely he knew that he was gone by now?-and concern over the ill receival he might be met with when seen by the civilians that they passed. Garrosh didn’t comment on it but Anduin knew that he noticed.

               Grommash Hold was a large, imposing building crouched low to the ground just within the city gates, encrusted in spikes like the shell of a thorny turtle. A pair of guards in heavy armor were standing outside it with axes in their hands. They didn’t stop them from entering, likely on account of the Overlord’s presence, but none the less treated the former Prince to a suspicious side eye. Inside of the building it was dark and cooler than the outside, though not by much, but the lack of windows left the air sedentary and heavy to breathe. Almost uncomfortably so.

               Candles hung in heavy cages by thick chains from the vaulted ceiling. More guards stood posted along the walls, glaring out from beneath their helms. The massive throne, unlike the Lion Seat, was made of wood and iron and a massive skull baring thorned sweeping tusks was mounted on the wall behind it. Anduin had been trained, both as a Prince and as a soldier, not to show fear in the presence of potential foes. Under normal circumstances the former Prince was able to control himself enough that he managed well enough at doing so. But his Omega had very plainly had enough and wedged his body tightly against his Alpha’s side. A soft squeak of distress slipping passed his guard, though he managed to muffle it enough that only Garrosh could hear.

               Thrall rose from where he’d been seated on the throne and approached them. Stopping at a respectful distance upon noticing how Anduin, again without conscious consent, shrank back and showed his teeth.

               “Garrosh,” the Warchief said, careful to keep his voice level so as not to further agitate the little Omega, “if you could please see my guards out for a moment, I’d speak with the Prince alone.”

               It was clear from the expression on his face that Garrosh wasn’t fond of the idea, but let out a heavy sigh and agreed. Barking at the guards to accompany him out of the Hold. Glancing back at Anduin’s indignant squawk but didn’t stop, vanishing around the threshold with the guards in tow.

               “Prince Wrynn.” Thrall said. The Omega’s attention snapping back to him with a hiss. The Paladin acting swiftly to seize hold of his other self and wrestle it back into line before it lashed out. “May we speak?”

               “Please, Warchief, just call me Anduin.” He said. “I’m not a Prince anymore.”

               Though the Warchief’s dark brows drew together at that comment, he didn’t mention it. “I don’t mean to make you feel as if you’re being threatened.” The Beta said. “But if I’m to offer you sanctuary in the Horde I need to know the full story. And I thought it would be best Garrosh wasn’t here to pose as a distraction.”

               “You haven’t.” He said. “I apologize for my behavior. My Omega…it won’t listen to me. And now that it’s no longer bound by suppressants and strengthened by my having imprinted it’s able and ready to act out.”

               “You’ve taken suppressants for your entire life?”

               “Ever since I presented.” Anduin said. “It’s cut years off my life, caused me considerable pain and robbed me of what might be called my ‘natural state’. But I don’t blame my father for it. He believed that it was necessary for my safety. He only wanted to protect me.”

               “Garrosh told me that he was holding you captive in Stormwind’s Keep. That he had plans to attempt to force a bond between you and a Human Alpha to keep you from your mate.” Thrall said. “Is this true?” Anduin wrapped his arms around himself. Pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and worrying it there almost painfully. He nodded. “How did this happen? When did it happen?”

               “Surely you know some of those answers?”

               “I do, from Garrosh’s side.” The Warchief said. “But I’d appreciate the chance to hear it from yours. Given everything, I think most people give little thought to the man behind the Prince.”

               Anduin winced, reminded of his father’s common speeches during his younger years of the many different aspects of the man who wore Stormwind’s crown; of the responsibility held by the one who sat on the Lion Seat to always put the aspect of King before all else.

               Even family.

               The young Omega cleared his throat before he spoke, feeling as if his chest had suddenly constricted. “No.” He said. “Most don’t.”

               “Allow me to be one of the few.”

               “We met in Moa’ki, in the Dragonblight. I’m not sure when the imprinting happened, exactly, but it must have been soon after he first saw me because he knew what I really was by that night at camp. We probably could have fought it, then. Walked away. But then the rest of our party fell in Naxxramas, we were forced to travel together back to the Borean, and I ate the food that he brought me on the edge of a heat. At that point…there was no running.”

               “He assisted you with the madness surrounding the Black Knight?”

               “And rescued me from the Lich King.” Anduin said. “Aunt Jaina gifted Fionn to me to help us keep in contact. With all the madness happening with the Shattering, Father was called away to Ironforge; I took the opportunity to arrange a meeting. But I didn’t stop to consider that I might be followed. The Spymaster told him before I could work out a way to do so without instigating war.” He shook his head, reaching up to tug at the uneven strands of his short-cut hair. “I don’t mean to bring war to the Horde, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it anymore. I had to leave.”

               “Having been raised the way that I was I’m well acquainted, unfortunately, with the way your people view Omega.” Thrall said gravely. “But I’d thought Varian was an Alpha of a different kind.”

               “He is.” Anduin said sadly. “Father is known for his campaigns against the brothels and the traditional view of Omega as accessories for an Alpha, best kept barefoot and pregnant. A tool for the pleasure of others, either through looking pretty or the use of their bodies. But he clearly doesn’t believe that we have any agency of our own. Or maybe he simply doesn’t believe that I do.”

               The Beta seemed to consider his available actions before reaching out and setting a large, green hand on his shoulder. “You’re safe here, Anduin. No matter what the Alliance does, what your father threatens, unless you choose to return to Stormwind with them when they inevitably come, I won’t allow them to take you from Orgrimmar.” He offered a thin medallion to him, which Anduin took. Turning the emblem over in his hands. “You’re safe with the Horde.”

               “Thank you, Warchief.” The former Prince said. “Truly, that you’d offer me sanctuary even knowing such a thing could be interpreted as an act of war…it means a lot.”

               “Think nothing of it.” He said, lips forming around his tusks into a warm smile. “With the upheaval across Azeroth I doubt even your father would be keen to rekindle the Faction war back to what it was. And even if that weren’t the case, I could do nothing else in good conscious, knowing that you’d suffer.”

               “May I return to my mate?” he asked softly, clutching the emblem tightly. His knuckles turning white.

               “Of course.” Thrall stepped back, beginning to make his way back to the throne. “Let Garrosh know that he can end my guards back in. Take your time in getting familiar with Orgrimmar; your reputation for enjoying exploration proceeds you.”

               “Reputation aside,” Anduin said softly, “my spirit for adventure has been dampened somewhat by all that’s happened lately.” Uncertain of what the proper procedure was for excusing one’s self from the Warchief’s presence was, the former Prince gave a stilted combination of a salute and a bow and exited the inner room of the Hold. Maneuvering through the dour, metal studded hallways and shielding his eyes as he stepped out into the desert sun.

               Even at some time near midmorning, or just before it, the light was already blinding. The harsh heat, dry and stifling, pressed against him like a weight. Garrosh’s golden eyes were on him in an instant.

               “Kil’azi?” there was worry plain in his voice. Anduin smiled in an effort to be reassuring and held up the emblem of the Horde. His smile stretching slightly wider, and finally touching his eyes as some of the tension left his frame.

               “The Warchief said that his guards can return, now.” Anduin said, though his words proved unnecessary as the group of Kor’kron had already begun to file back into the Hold. Making only the barest effort to avoid knocking into him, no doubt out of a lack of desire to incite Garrosh to violence. “And that I’m welcome to make myself at home here.”

               “And you’d like a tour?” Garrosh made a point of sounding put upon over the matter, but Anduin knew from the way he looked at him through the corner of his eye that it was all a show. It almost made the former Prince reconsider what he was about to say.

               “I’d love a tour,” he said softly, “but maybe not today. I know that it’s not quite the hottest part of the day yet, but…would you mind if we turned in for that nap a little bit early.”

               Garrosh seemed to study him, then. Gaze lingering for a moment on the shadows beneath his eyes. He nodded. “Of course, Kil’azi, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

               “Thank you, Garrosh.”

               The Alpha grunted and clambered back up into the saddle. Reaching down to help Anduin after him onto the War Worg’s back.


End file.
